Sweet Reversal
by MaskedShipper
Summary: A potion gone wrong causes the Boy Who Lived to shrink physically and mentally. Four years every ten days, he grows. How is Draco Malfoy involved in this? How will things turn out when he's normal again? [Rated M for abuse in LATER chapters][Eventual HxD]
1. Undeserved Attention

**A/N:** I've decided to post up this story here. xD Yay! Let me know what you think of it!

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns everything except the idea of this peice of writing. Yep. She's pretty much the luckiest person alive...

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Draco sighed, muttering a slew of angry words under his breath as he head towards the Headmaster's office. Damn attention whore, that's what he was, even when he obviously didn't want it. The blond scoffed at that thought. The Boy Who Lived, not wanting attention? It was nothing short of a miracle, really. Damn bloody teenager was always the topic of everyone's conversations. Potter did this, Potter did that, Potter didn't die yet… _everyone_ bloody spoke about him! Hell, even Draco spoke about him, and it was sickening.

"What're you looking at?" the Slytherin snarled furiously as green eyes peered up at him through the cavern of clothes bundled in his arms. The little head immediately dug itself back into its sanctuary of robes, and Draco was glad for this. He didn't want to stare at the little figure; it was bad enough that he had taken him in the first place. But what else was he supposed to do? Everyone had been gawking at the undersized thing, gaping at him, and the elfin creature had practically wet itself under everyone's stares.

"Even when you mess up you still get all the bloody attention…" Draco grumbled, feeling a strong urge to go on a large rant, one that would include the fact that he didn't _deserve_ any attention, and how much he should just keel over to the Dark Lord. Yes, wouldn't that be a sight? Harry Potter, kneeling in front of the greatest man alive –that is… he employed the term 'alive' very loosely. Sure he had been dead a few times before, but he was alive _now_ – and handing himself over. Yes, what a very entertaining and delicious thought that was.

"M'sorry."

The voice was so small and so timid that Draco paused. He stared at the mess of cloth in his arms, feeling the small body retreat further away and squirming around. It seemed to demand his undivided attention, trying not to drop the tiny body from his arms, but Merlin! He was just squirming so bloody much!

"Stop that!" Draco ordered harshly, afraid the boy would crack his head open if he fell to the floor. Not that he cared, of course. It would just be messy. And he'd probably get blamed for it. The squirming ceased immediately and Draco was a bit afraid the little bugger had actually snuffed it. He felt the fragile body tremble slightly; he sighed, holding onto the boy tighter and gentler against his chest. He really wasn't used to carrying infants.

"M'sorry."

"Yeah, I heard." Draco exhaled deeply, tiredly, and continued his walk towards the twin gargoyles. "I wish you'd be better at Potions, Potter. Who knows what the hell you've done this time."

"M'sorry…"

Draco shut his eyes and bid himself to remain calm. Snapping and yelling at the little tyke would get him nowhere. Instead of snapping, he decided to go on and continue venting. It was a much better alternative. "What did you add to that potion, anyway? Snape obviously didn't know. 'He needs to see the Headmaster'. Well _duh_. Look at you! You're a little kid! Pfff, he never sends anyone to the old coot. Merlin knows what you've done to yourself."

"M… M'sorry…"

Wait, was he – Oh Merlin no. Why him? Why _him_? What had he ever done in his life to deserve such a fate?

"No, shh, don't cry. Stop crying! I can't handle crying! Stop that! Shh… come on now. Crying's for babies. You aren't a baby, are you?"

Draco heard a loud sniffle, and he prayed to any deity that would listen that the little bugger wasn't wiping his nose on the fancy new robes he had just bought last weekend.

"M'sorry I'm so weird. I try not to be. I don't _mean_ to be…"

"Yeah, well…"

Words stopped as they came to a halt before the statues that would lead to their destination with just a muttered word.

"Peppermint Patty Pleasure."

Coming alive, the twin gargoyles moved out of the way, dragging the wall with them, and leaving a spiral staircase in their wake. As Head Boy, Draco knew what the password was, incase of 'emergencies'. He knew all the passwords. It was a perk that came with the job. The boy against him was silent, and Draco didn't care enough to notice the incredulous stares from those emerald orbs. The blond knocked three times on the solid oak door at the end of the swirling staircase. He tried to arrange himself into as erect and proper a position he could whilst carrying his specific burden.

"Come in!"

Damn cheery man…

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. What is that you're carrying in your arms?"

Draco moved to the desk and released his hold of the thing in his arms, carefully, but none too gracefully. He cared to not drop it head first, that would leave a bloody mess on the fine desk. No pun intended. "That, sir, would be the Little Boy Who Lived."

The small figure shuffled, trying to find his way through the layers of robes until eventually a head poked through. Glasses hung over his round face, haphazard, giving the illusion that beautiful green eyes were larger, the inquisitiveness found within accentuated. Around the green it was slightly pink and Draco figured it had been from the crying he had done earlier. The rest of his body was still draped in the Gryffindor rags he had worn just earlier that day.

"Oh dear."

"Yeah."

"…" Dumbledore stood, a frown on his face, his blue eyes still retaining their twinkling lustre. Made Draco want to retch up his lunch, that's what it did. That blasted elder was too happy for it to be dismissed as 'sane' and 'normal'. "Lemon drop?" Draco shook his head quickly, his face a mask, curtaining any emotion, not that there was any save mild disdain, and perhaps just a hint of curiosity. "This is… quite a predicament he seems to be in. Would you like a lemon drop?" Draco watched as a mop of raven hair followed the little one's movements, back and forth as he shook his head. Soon, Dumbledore's eyes were back on Draco. "Do you know what happened?"

"That dolt probably put too much of something in his potion. I wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, but whatever he did caused a thick blue smoke to fill the room. Professor Snape vanished it after people started crying out, and then he was there, on the floor, small and quite different. Professor picked him up, and everyone was staring, and he told us that he needed to see you. Obviously he didn't know what to do. But everyone was unable to move, just staring at him, so I decided I'd take it upon myself to bring him to you personally, since I seemed to be the only one who had enough sense not to gawk."

He doesn't need more attention than he already has. Damn glory hog. Draco's mind was in a loop, it seemed. Hadn't he already thought about how much of an attention whore Harry bloody Potter was? Yes. He definitely had.

"Ah…" The old man stroked his long white beard thoughtfully, though he was obviously troubled. Draco's mask was put on his face once more – it seemed to have slipped while he was talking. Hmm, wait. That was bad, wasn't it? If the mask fell when he spoke? Yes, definitely bad. Draco would have to work on that.

"Do you know your name?" Silver eyes blinked and gazed upon the old man trying to start a conversation with the young.

"M'Harry."

"Do you have a last name, Harry?" The little boy shook his head in the negative. "No? Alright then. Do you know who I am, Harry?" The little boy shook his head again. "I'm Dumbledore. It's very nice to meet you."

"Why doesn't he know who you are?"

"Hush for a moment, Mr. Malfoy. Now Harry, do you know who that boy over there is?" The man pointed a finger at Draco, and the teen stiffened, his eyes hard on the finger, quasi fearful he'd be hexed for something he'd never done. Harry nodded nevertheless. "You do?" Harry nodded again. "Who is he, then?"

"He's… He's Mister Malafoyd."

"Who?" Draco arched a fine eyebrow condescendingly and the little Harry blushed.

"Tha's what you called him before…"

"But do you know him?" Harry nodded again. "How do you know him?"

"He brought me away from all those people. Brought me here." Draco rolled his eyes. Stupid little boy, he was. Of course, he probably didn't know what the question had meant, so there really wasn't much to blame him for… Draco decided he'd still blame him, though.

"How old are you, Harry?"

The little boy looked hesitant about how many fingers to hold up, but eventually managed to spread his hand, five fingers splayed in the air. Dumbledore nodded, and Draco was vaguely aware of the portraits watching the scene before them.

"How did you get here, my boy?"

Draco watched as Harry's eyes watered up and he took a big sniff to calm himself. "I dunno… I can't remember. I just woke up, sort've, and a bunch of people were staring at me."

Dumbledore nodded, sighed, and sat down on his chair, staring at the toddler. "I'm afraid we'll have to contact his family."

Harry's eyes immediately widened. "No!" he cried, trembling again. "No! Please don't tell Uncle Vernon I'm here! I did something weird again, didn't I? Yes, that's why I'm here. Please don't tell. Please! I'll be good, I'll be a good boy! Just don't tell him! Please don't tell! I don't mean to be weird! I don't mean to be a freak! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please don't tell…"

Draco cocked an eyebrow up, and then directed his gaze toward Dumbledore. What would he do now that the hero of the wizarding world was a sobbing mess on his desk?

"I'll be good. Promise. I'll be a good boy. I'm not a freak. I promise. I promise. Don't tell. I'll be good…"

Dumbledore took a deep and, what sounded like, a pained sigh. He looked at Harry through his half moon spectacles. "Well, we need to tell someone, Harry. Please understand."

"But I'll be good! I promise! I'll scrub the floors and cook the food and make the beds and wash the walls and I promise I'll be good! Don't tell!"

Was Dumbledore _really_ trying to make a little five year old understand? Sod that! If Draco had been Headmaster, he would have contacted the twerp's family right away. Who cares if Harry was scared? He was five for Merlin's sake! And something else was troubling the blond. This was Harry Potter, supposed saviour, and he was going on about household chores? Wasn't he a spoiled brat? Sure he lived with muggles, but he was Harry Potter. Harry _Potter_! He was probably richer than the Malfoys, although Draco would rather be attacked by another hippogriff than ever admit that.

"Harry, please understand that this is not your decision. You're merely a little boy. Anything serious that happens to you needs to be reported to them – "

"I'll rinse the toilets! I'll polish your shoes! I'll … I'll… do you like cookies? I'll bake cookies! Please don't tell Uncle Vernon. Please don't!"

"He won't! Just shut _up_!" Draco had had just about enough of this. "No one wants you to clean or scrub or polish, Potter. No one wants your cookies! Just stop your babbling and crying and no one'll tell your stupid uncle anything, got it?" The little boy's head snapped towards Draco, his eyes watery and the green in them magnified by the tears and glasses. The toddler took a big sniff. Gods, the Slytherin could see the snot slipping from his nose. Harry nodded, understanding Draco's words, and reached for a piece of cloth he was bundled up in to wipe his nose.

"_No!_ Dear God in heaven, no." Harry froze, afraid he'd done something wrong, his eyes watering up more than before. The blond sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling out a green handkerchief from his pocket. "Use this. Don't wipe your nose on that. It's disgusting. You wore that, I'll have you know." He offered the hanky with his initials to the boy, who took it and wiped his nose, blowing into the material. Draco's nose wrinkled, and Harry blushed. "You can keep that," he murmured when Harry offered it back at him with an apologetic look. The boy blushed deeper and pulled the handkerchief closer to his body.

"Well, since you've taken an obvious liking to the boy, you can take care of him, Mr. Malfoy."

And it was at this precise moment that the seven gates of hell broke, and all demons were let loose.

"You can't just dump him on me! I don't want to be a baby sitter! Gods, it's _Potter_! A Potter that is only five years old! I didn't like him then, so why in Merlin's name would I like him now?"

That mask Draco was supposed to have decided to leave him. It had left him quite a while ago. Draco would have to make a new one quite soon. Green eyes were staring at him, and the blond was feeling mighty uncomfortable. "I'm sorry Potter, but it's the truth. Learn it, love it, never forget it."

The small boy nodded, as in understanding, and Draco just groaned. "Mr. Malfoy, please keep your calm. No need to alarm this dear child. I was merely pondering your parenting skills. Obviously they are not up to par. I'm sure Ms. Granger and Mister Weasley will want to take care of their best friend."

"Gods. He'll be like their love child." Maybe Draco should make a list of all the things that made him sick to his stomach. This day really did include a lot of them.

"Mr. Malfoy, please keep your comments to yourself. Thank you for bringing him here. You may leave now." Draco bowed his head, and with a last look at the little Potter on the desk, left the office.

"Bye Mister Malafoyd."


	2. Heavy Heaving Hippogriffs

**A/N:** I can post chapter two and three today as well, because I have them already, but the rest of the chapters won't be so quick. nn;; Enjoy this chapter as well! And thank you, **Dezra** and **animegurl088** for the reviews. Reviews make me feel special. nn

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns everything except the idea of this peice of writing. Yep. She's pretty much the luckiest person alive...

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That had been an awful scare. 'You can take care of him, Mr. Malfoy'. Was he trying to be funny? It was a horrible jest if there ever was one, Draco had decided. He thanked his lucky star it had merely been an old man trying to make him crack a smile, or snicker, or lose his mask. Whichever was better than actually having custody of the little brat. Ugh, just the thought of it was making his stomach churn. Speaking of churning stomachs, Draco had missed supper. Well, technically, he had missed it since he decided to take his sweet time descending the spiral staircase. He didn't really have any desire to return to class, and luckily Dumbledore hadn't noticed, far too busy trying to figure out what had happened to his Golden Boy. 

A churning stomach wasn't the same as a hungered stomach, the teenager knew, but it had been a close enough association. It had sufficed enough to bring the idea of food to his mind at any rate. A sigh escaped the male's lips as he stood in front of a painting of a knight with a sheathed sword, which happened to be pointed at Draco. He rolled his eyes, annoyed with the soldier in the portrait.

"Heavy, heaving hippogriffs holler 'Hey, Hello'."

It was the knight's turn to roll his eyes, and the Slytherin stepped in as the frame swung open. He had chosen the password on his first day, on the train. It had been his favourite tongue twister as a child, and it was his password for almost everything. He had managed to convince the Head Girl it was a good enough password because, after all, it was good, clean, and wholesome. Not one part of it included a dying soul or a mockery of someone's blood. Yes, he was quite proud of himself.

The room he stepped into wasn't as green or silver as he would have liked. Instead it was a cream colour, most of the furnishings brown and wooden. He plopped himself on a tan armchair, staring at the fire that never seemed to die down. Pale fingers rubbed equally throbbing temples, trying to escape the imminent headache coming on. At least the other wasn't here. That meant he had the whole place to himself. Another sigh, this one more content than the previous had been. The entire comfortable room was his to enjoy. How wondrous…

"Malfoy, where is he?" The portrait slammed open, hitting the wall, and Draco jumped in his seat in shock, groaning when he realised that the blasted girl had ruined his satisfied state of mind.

"Where's who?" he asked, looking at her innocently. The girl was glaring hard, her nostrils flaring with each breath, her bushy hair radiating her anger. She dropped her book bag onto the coffee table with a loud thud, and Draco knew she was more than a little ticked off/worried/insane. If Hermione Granger were to drop her books so unceremoniously, something was definitely wrong. "Did you try that new shampoo I left in the bathroom for you? You really should get that hair under control…" He smirked, remembering the bottle and the note he had left her. He was just looking out for a fellow peer. Sure, there might have been some derogatory statements scribbled on the parchment, but really, he had her best interest at heart.

"You know who I'm talking about!" Fine. He didn't care if she ignored his statement. She was already riled up, there was no need for him to try harder.

"I brought him to Dumbledore. He's probably still there."

"And what did Dumbledore say?"

"Oh, he said it was nothing. Flicked his wand and there he was, back to his normal, seventeen year old self."

A look of pure relief came over the girl, and her face broke out into a grin. "Really? He's okay now?" Draco couldn't help but burst into a fit of snickers.

"Nah, I'm just pulling your leg. He's still five."

He immediately shut up at the look of borderline murderous rage on her face. "Come on, Granger! It was only a joke…" He pushed himself further into his chair, hoping to escape the wrath she would doubtlessly unleash upon him.

"You miserable little ferret! This is no time to be joking! Harry could be more affected than we think! What if there was a poison in his potion that's seeping through his veins? What if he'll remain five forever? What'll we do then?"

"What's with the 'we'? _I_ won't do a thing but watch, and maybe throw a hex or two at him since he can't defend himself…"

"Ugh! What is wrong with you? I can't believe you'd want to hex a defenceless child! You really are a Slytherin."

"And don't you forget it."

She let out a shriek of annoyance, and Draco smirked. Heh, maybe she'd pull her hair out in frustration. Then it would be easier to tame that bird nest she wore on her head.

At the same time he let another snicker escape his throat, Professor McGonagall appeared at the still open portrait door. She looked like she was about to comment on the fact that it had been open, exposing their whereabouts, but she merely shook her head and looked pointedly at Hermione.

"Ms. Granger, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you straight away. If you'd so kindly follow me…" The Gryffindor was quick to leave, not without a glare to Draco, and when she was gone, Draco allowed himself to smile. Merlin he loved arguing, especially because he was so good at it.

Alone once more, the blond spent a good few minutes staring into the fire, thinking everything out. What _would_ happen if it took twelve years for Harry to become seventeen again? Or what if he remained five forever? And more importantly, what the _hell_ had he put in his potion to make him that way? It obviously wasn't just a small error, or else Snape would have known what to do. No, this was something much bigger than merely adding an extra snake tongue to the concoction. But, in Draco's opinion, it could have gone much worse. He could be covered in boils, or lost all his hair. It was a terrible thing, to be stripped of one's looks. The blond shuddered at the thought.

Harry was much cuter a five year old than he was a seventeen year old, probably because he didn't spend so much time glaring. Any time Draco caught his eye, he was glaring at him. Which made the Slytherin sneer back. So, in all fairness, Harry always started it.

But the times that he had caught a glimpse of Harry, without the other boy knowing, it had always been interesting. It was as if the glare was reserved to him alone. When staring at the abnormally tall Weasel, or the know-it-all Mudblood, he was smiling broadly, and speaking so happily… it was sickening. Oh yes, Draco needed to get started on the list.

He got up and crossed the room, sitting in front of one of the three large desks. This room was like a common room, only it was equipped for two people and not hundreds, making it much smaller; it was spacious enough for Draco not to complain though.

Grabbing a piece of parchment from the desk – Granger had parchment and quills littered everywhere – and began writing. Number one was Potter's sick, happy smile. Number two was Dumbledore's twinkling eyes. Number three was the thought of the Mudblood and the Weasel having a child, or hoards of children, really. He leaned back in his chair, stroking the feather part of the quill on his chin thoughtfully as he pondered what else made him sick.

He hadn't noticed the time go by, and he was at number twenty-eight, smiling like a loon, when the portrait opened for the second time that night. He wiped the smile off his face as soon as it had opened.

"-best if he stays here."

"But 'Mione, I really think he should spend time with everyone he knows. It might help him remember."

"Ron, they'll just frighten him. The least amount of people, the better."

Draco stood and crossed his arms and stared at the pair of them, the lovesick Gryffindors, with a raised brow. "Why's the Weasel here?" he asked dryly. The Weasel's not-yet girlfriend rolled her eyes.

"Don't start, Malfoy. Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini… they're always in here."

"And you never seem to mind." She scoffed, but he went on, "I mind, in this case. I don't want him here."

A little head poked out from behind Hermione's legs, and Draco took a moment to take in the little boy. The robes had been shrunk to fit him, as had his glasses it seemed, and he was looking as shy as ever.

"He's not allowed in here either."

"Oh hush, Malfoy. No one's listening to you." Hermione turned and began whispering her previous conversation with Ron again. Draco sat back down, feeling rather annoyed, and began scribbling in a corner of the parchment that had his list. No one seemed to notice the little ravenet making his way over to the blond.

"What're you doing?" he whispered, so low that Draco turned to look at him to make sure he was really there.

"None of your business." He turned his head and continued scribbling in his little corner of paper.

"Can I watch?"

"No."

Draco could feel that Harry hadn't left, but stared stubbornly at his paper. After a minute of silence from the little one who continued to stand beside him, Draco huffed angrily and turned around.

"I said you weren't allowed to watch!"

But Harry wasn't watching; he was staring at his shoes, looking straight down, and didn't look up when Draco had snapped at him.

"M'not…" he murmured, his voice still low.

"Malfoy! Don't yell at him!" The girl cried, making her way to the pair of them, just realising that Harry had wandered off. "What's he ever done to you?"

"Potter here is annoying me!"

"He's a bloody five year old! How in bleeding hell is he annoying you?" Ron's glare had quickly turned to shock when Hermione hit him. "What was that for?"

"Watch your language," she muttered, before turning her head to look at Harry. Draco almost laughed at how fast her eyes had turned from hard to soft. "Harry? Leave him alone. He's not very nice."

Harry looked down at his feet again and followed Hermione back to the couch where Ron was. The redhead gave Draco a pointed look, and the Slytherin felt a need to defend himself. "Hey! I didn't invite him over." He went back to staring at his list.

"Damn Weasel…"

"Language!"

"I can swear if I bloody fucking want to!" He could hear Hermione huff angrily, and he smirked, proud of the way he could make her react. He really should keep score of their arguments, and who won each time. It would just be for his own amusement, since he was the one who always won. (The times that she got the last word didn't count as an argument, obviously.)

The night wore on, and by eavesdropping, Draco found out that Dumbledore had advised that little Potter stay in this room with them; Snape would be reviewing all the possible things that could have gone wrong with the Potion, McGonagall was in charge of telling the students what had happened, and if _anything _different happened with Harry, Madame Pomfrey should be notified right away.

Dumbledore had given Ron permission to know the password, since he and Hermione had temporary custody of the child until his family could be notified, and it was only a matter of time before the obvious question came up.

"So… what _is_ the password?"

The blond pretended he hadn't heard, his eyes roaming his list, pretending to be working on it. Hermione was looking at him, he could feel it on his back, and everything was uncomfortably silent.

"… Wait. _He_ chose the password?"

Ten points to Gryffindor for stating the obvious, Draco's mind sang out, and he smirked at the thought.

"Don't smirk at me, you git! Hermione, how could you have agreed to a password of his? What is it? 'I pledge allegiance to the Dark Lord'? 'Filthy Muggleborn'? 'Harry Potter must die'? Really, what could it possibly be?"

There was another silence. Surely the girl didn't expect him to say it. She knew the password just as bloody well as he did. "Spit it out, Malfoy!"

With a heavy, burdened sigh, Draco turned in his chair to look at the trio. It really was a strange sight, now that their leader was tiny and without his look of power.

"Heavy, heaving hippogriffs holler 'Hey, Hello'."

The freckled boy blinked, his face scrunching up as he tried to understand.

"Hippos holler what?"

"Heavy, heaving hippogriffs holler 'Hey, Hello'." Draco repeated, making sure his words were exaggeratedly slow so that Ron could see just how stupid he thought he was.

"Oh… I remember that. I was never able to say it…" Ron paused, thinking, until he glared at Draco. "What a stupid password!"

"Well I didn't think complete morons were going to need to know what it was. If I did I would have used something simple, like 'Dada' or something. Can you say that, Weasley? Dada?"

The redhead looked on the verge of snarling, quite animalistic in Draco's opinion, and was approaching him fast and threateningly. He stopped when a little voice was heard.

"Heavy, heaving hippos with griffs holler, 'Hey, Hello'."

All eyes fell onto the green-eyed boy, whose proud smile faded and he shrunk away under everyone's stares. "M'sorry…" he muttered. What was with him always apologizing?

"You didn't do anything wrong, Harry," Hermione was smiling in a rather motherly way, and swooped down to hug the boy. "We were just surprised was all. You're quite good with tongue twisters." Harry blushed and a small smile made its way to his face. "Do you know any others?"

"He wasn't _good_," Draco said, and as soon as he had spoken, Weasley had begun glaring again. "I'm just saying! He messed up the words."

Harry looked confused. "M'sorry…" Draco gave him an irritated look, and when Harry spoke again, his voice was lower because of it. "What are the words, then?"

"Heavy, heaving _hippogriffs_ holler 'Hey, Hello.'"

"What's a hippogriff?" Draco's eyes narrowed. He wasn't a patient bloke, that much was obvious. The five year old moved back a bit, leaning against Hermione's leg.

"Oh I don't have time for this!"

Draco stormed away, his list in hand. He stomped his way up the left staircase that led to his room, slamming the door shut. Now they knew just how annoyed he felt. He changed out of his school robes and put his nightclothes on. He got ready for bed, brushing his hair with vigour as he tried to calm himself down. What's a hippogriff? Really? Was that a question? Damn muggle child.

Before slipping into bed, where a restful night would await him, Draco got a quill and ink and wrote down number twenty-nine of things that made him sick.

_29. Harry's cuteness._

With that done, he allowed the week to be dissolved in his subconscious mind and allowed the weekend to meet him with his wake.


	3. Of Potters and Malafoyds

**A/N:** Aaand this is the final of the chappies I'm uploading tonight. I'm currently working on chapter four. Shouldn't be too long a wait...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own - wait. WAIT! I... no. Nevermind. I still don't own Harry Potter. False alarm. No need to sue; I did not create these characters, I'm only playing with them...

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Draco awoke with a start. Eyes open, the blond remained perfectly silent, stilling his breath. Alert and fully conscious, grey hues scanned the bedroom. Someone was there. Someone had penetrated the forces of the Head Students' dormitory. Someone was in his room.

Any form of grogginess was absent, adrenaline pumping through the male's veins instead. Draco had always been a light sleeper, and had always been a tad paranoid when it was dark out. It sure did pay off now though, didn't it?

Slowly he reached out, very slowly, oh so subtly, until his fingers lightly brushed his nightstand. He just needed to stretch a bit further, extend his fingers just a bit more, and he'd finally be able to hex his intruder. Oh, Draco had prepared greatly for this. His mind held a great repertoire of dark spells for occasions just like this one, where spies weren't discreet enough, when missionaries couldn't keep quiet. Whoever it was probably wanted to use Legilimens on him to find out plans including his father's involvement with the Dark Lord. Or maybe whoever it was _was_ on the Dark Lord's side, and they wanted to test his loyalty. Well, no one snuck up on _him._ They'd rue the day they snuck into Draco Malfoy's room!

"Lumos!" Draco yelled, his wand pointed threateningly to the intruder. His face was snarling, his entire appearance dangerous. The culprit turned out to be much smaller than he would have thought. And a lot less foreboding. Draco's demeanour instantly changed from alert and perilous to irate and frustrated.

"Potter, get the bloody hell out of my room!"

The little Harry Potter was standing there, eyes wide, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. The boy looked sickly pale under the light of the blond's wand. Merlin, he looked so pitiful and scared and worried and… wait.

"Put it down, Potter." His words were still sharp, his paranoia present once. This might have been a trap. It was a bloody conspiracy, it was. Maybe Potter wasn't really five, and it was just a plot to get information from Draco, or to get him to try and switch sides… yes… they were out to get him! He knew it! "Potter, I said _drop_ it."

Harry seemed to snap out of it, blinking and clutching Draco's robe closer to himself. What he wanted with a robe, the Slytherin wasn't sure, but what he _was_ certain of was that it was something that would end up working against him.

"M'sorry. I was just cleaning – "

"Why are you in my room?"

"I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry – "

"What are you _doing_ in my room?"

"I just passed by and I saw your pretty clothing on the floor. I was just gonna fold it and place it neatly at the foot of the bed."

"Why? Are you some kind of house elf or something?"

"No, m'Harry."

"…"

It took all of Draco's power not to chuck something at the boy's head. The look on Draco's face must have conveyed that message, because soon Harry was babbling out more apologies.

"M'sorry, Mister Malafoyd! Sorry, I really am. I'll just finish folding and go back to Heminy's room… to Herminidy – Hermoany – Herm… to the girl's room." He began folding the long green robe, but Draco was up and out of bed, snatching it away from him.

"No! _Bad_ Potter!"

"M'sorry, but I – "

"No!" Draco held out the robe at arms' length, then let it drop to the floor. Harry watched it wistfully, his little arms twitching to pick it up.

"But it's gonna get dirty…"

"The house elves will clean it. It's their job to do so."

"But… I just…" Harry reached out, and Draco tapped his hand away. The boy quickly brought it back to his side

"I said 'no'! Listen when I talk, Potter!"

"Don't you want it to be neat and tidy?"

"It _will_ be neat and tidy. And cleaned. In the morning, though."

"But who'll do it?"

"Do you listen when I talk? The _house elves_ will do it!"

Harry looked hesitant about something. Draco, crossing his arms impatiently, began tapping his foot. After an entire minute of chewing his lip, the green eyed nymph spoke quietly again, his eyes never leaving the robe.

"It'll just take a second to fold and put away…"

"You are not a house elf! Stop that! No! Bad Potter! Leave it on the floor! We have creatures who pick up after us."

Harry looked rather confused, and Draco realised that he might not know what a house elf _was_. "Damn muggles…" he muttered under his breath. Still, a part of him needed to prove to Harry that he was only messy because someone else was trained to pick after him. Or rather, _something_ else.

"I swear I won't bother you after this! I just want to fold it for you – "

"Potter," Draco sighed, his eyes narrowed. This was getting annoying. The light from his wand faded, and with a firm swish, the lanterns in the room lit up. The drastic change in lighting would have made Draco wince, but he was practised enough to school his features. "Just go sit on my bed. I'm going to show you something." Those words said, Draco walked back to his large, comfortable bed – he loved being Head Boy – and sat down cross-legged on it, his back straight. It took a moment for Harry to process the information, but soon he was struggling to climb onto the high mattress, without any help from Draco who got a small kick from watching his difficulties, and he too was sitting cross-legged now, only a lot more slumped than the blond was.

"Now watch carefully…" Draco made a tiny coughing sound, and then his voice rang loud and clear in the room. "Winky! Here. _Now_."

A small pop was heard, and Harry's eyes widened in fascination and awe when a creature about his size appeared from no where, bowing so low that the stub of a nose touched the floor, and large ears flopped at the side of the lumpy head. "What is it Master Draco requires of Winky, sir?"

Harry was grinning, his emerald orbs bright in wonder, and he was crawling towards the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the blankets as he leaned forward to get as close as possible without dismounting. Draco held in a small chuckle at the sight.

"My robes, Winky, as you can see, are on the floor. _Why_ are the not folded, cleaned, and in my closet?"

"So sorries is I, Master Draco, sir! Usually I is doing it at five thirty on Saturday mornings. I knows you is a light sleeper, Master Draco, sir. I never wish to wake you with my chores, sir."

"Well I'm awake _now,_ and it's still on the floor." The elf's eyes widened, and Harry looked even more excited, his head turning as he looked from Draco to Winky and back again.

"So sorry, Master Draco! So terribly, terribly sorry! Winky is a bad house elf, a very bad house elf!" The elf began knocking on her skull, loud enough so that the cracks echoed in the room. Harry gasped, his eyes wide for another reason now, and he darted off the bed and hugged the rag-wearing creature.

"You're not bad, Winky! You're good! You did what he wanted. Don't hurt yourself…"

Winky flailed her arms, trying to get away from the hugging boy. "Master Draco, what is I supposed to do with him attached to me?"

"Potter, let it go."

"But – "

"Let it go, I said!"

Harry reluctantly let go, pouting slightly, and murmured a small 'm'sorry' to the house elf. The elf looked appalled, and turned away, as if needing to get that hug out of her mind. She snapped her fingers, and all of the discarded clothes were off the floor, cleaned, and folded in their place.

"Is there… is there anything else Master Draco requires of Winky?" Winky asked, looking at Harry a little uncomfortably.

"That's all for now."

And with another little pop, the elf was gone.

"And _that_, Potter, is why you don't pick up my clothes."

Harry was waving his hand over the spot that Winky had disappeared in, as if trying to come into contact with something solid: a transportation device of some sort, or Winky herself.

"Why do you call me Potter all the time? I don't make pots." The boy wasn't looking at Draco, but instead staring at his hand, almost looking disappointed that his hand hadn't disappeared like the elf had.

"Because that's your name."

"No… I'm Harry."

"Yes. Your name is Harry _Potter_."

"That's what my teacher said. I kept telling her she was wrong, though. It's just Harry."

Draco watched a bit as Harry continued waving his hand around, expecting something to happen, before he got annoyed again. "Well, you're wrong. I know what your name is."

"Don't mean to be rude, but I think I'd know better than you." The little boy drew himself up to his full height and put his shoulders back, trying to give himself an important look. The teenager only scoffed. What had happened to the shy little boy of before? Surely he didn't talk back.

"Everyone knows your bloody name…"

"And why's that?" He looked genuinely curious, almost happy with the fact that people knew his name. Draco huffed and crossed his arms, staring out the window from his spot on the bed.

" 'Cause you're a bloody glory hound, that's why."

"M'sorr- "

"Don't say it!" Draco turned around, his eyes merely slits as he glared at him. "Don't! It's so bloody annoying! You are _not_ sorry, and I don't want to hear you repeat those words. Ever! If you do I _swear_ to Merlin I'll cut your tongue off and make you swallow it whole!"

That seemed to do the trick. Draco gave the boy another glare before moving back to the bed. Harry was biting his lip, staring at Draco with worried eyes. The blond couldn't care less. He sat on his bed, completely ignoring the child, and stared at the clock across the room. It was only a quarter to five. Damn it was early. So early. So bloody, friggin' early…

He lay down on the bed and pulled the covers over himself. Hopefully Potter would take the hint and leave the room, and himself, alone. He had thought it had worked, seeing as the next five minutes had been silent. He smiled softly, glad that the comfort of sleep could take him once again, but it soon melted into a scowl. A little body crawled onto his bed. He tried to remain still, thinking that the boy was stupid enough to think he had fallen asleep. Alas, he was wrong.

"Mister Malafoyd?"

"I'm tired, Potter. I want to sleep. Go away."

"Can I ask you something before I go?"

"No!"

The teenager kicked his feet under the covers in an attempt to make the little one fall.

"M's – " Harry stopped himself just in time. Heh. Draco smirked smugly under his thick, warm blankets, the same ones that called to him, pleading with him to put his conscious mind to rest. "Do you hate me?"

Draco groaned and kicked again. "Yes! Get away from me!" A sniffle echoed around the room, and Draco, quite aggravated, peeked his eyes over the comforter. "Don't cry. Just get out. Then you can cry. Just don't cry _here_."

Harry nodded, wiping at his eyes and nose with his sleeve, but made no move to leave.

"Why?"

"Because you won't leave me alone!" Draco threw the covers back, hoping to scare Harry into believing he would do him some bodily harm, but the boy didn't even flinch. Draco's angry expression wavered for a moment, before he snapped again. "Why aren't you scared?" His voice was just as loud as it had been before.

"The girl said you wouldn't hurt me. She said no one could hurt me here."

"Well, maybe _she_ doesn't think so, but lots of bad things can happen to you here, Potter."

Harry, for some reason, didn't seem at all threatened by this. He looked slightly confused. When he spoke, his words were slow and careful, as if he was thinking out loud, trying to figure out what was going on. "But… Uncle Vernon's not here…"

"So?"

"And Aunt Petunia's not here…"

"Who?"

"And Dudley… the girl said that none of them could reach me here."

"…Dudley?"

"So I'm safe." Harry finished, grinning at his logic; the grin was short lived, remembering he was still with Draco, and Draco's eyes were narrowed to slits.

"You're not _safe_, Potter. Not while I'm here. No one is safe when Draco Lucien Malfoy is around."

"…Who's that?"

"Me, Potter! That's _me_!" A migraine was forming; he could feel the throb begin in his head.

"Oh… so your name is Draco?"

"Don't call me that."

"But you said that was your name."

"But I hate you, remember? And if I hate you, you can't call me by my first name."

"Can I call you Lucien, then?"

"No."

"Draco Lucien?"

"No."

"Draco Lucien Malafoyd?"

"It's Malfoy."

"That's what I said. Malafoyd."

"No, no. You're saying it wrong."

Draco sat up, staring at the ravenet, determination etched in his silver eyes. "Malfoy." The word was clearly pronounced, and he gestured that Harry should try saying it.

"Mall-foyld…"

"No, you're adding syllables! Try again. Malfoy."

"Mala-foy – "

"Closer, but still no. We'll try in little steps. Say 'Mal'."

"Mall."

"No, '_Mal_', not _'Mall_'. The 'a' is like in 'jam' not like in 'ball'. '_Mal_'.

"Mal."

"Good. Now, Mal_foy_. Like 'boy', but with an 'f' instead.

"Malfoy."

Draco smiled, genuinely and sincerely. Upon seeing this, Harry grinned. And upon seeing _that_, Draco scowled.

"Now that you've got that, go away. I need to sleep."

"Okay Mister Draco Lucien Malfoy."

Draco groaned but shut his eyes, falling asleep shortly after hearing little steps leave his room.


	4. Flowers

**A/N: **Voila! I feel like this chapter has a lot wrong with it... My Beta isn't on, and I'm very impatient. -sigh- Ah well. Enjoy! And thanks for all the reviews! They make me happy.

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"Draco Lucien Malfoy?" 

Draco stormed in the Hogwarts courtyard, each footstep crushing some form of plant life under his polished shoes. How _dare_ he? What right did that big oaf have for mauling him in such a dreadful manner? What had Draco _ever_ done to deserve such a beating? It should have been against the law to hit beautiful people.

"Draco Lucien Malfoy, wait up!"

The blond froze in his steps, his hands fisted at his sides. He took deep breaths to calm himself, but they weren't having the desired effect; in actuality, each breath was bringing him closer and closer to hitting the little twerp that was quickly catching up.

"Draco Lucien Malfoy, are you okay?"

Another deep breath. Another squeeze for his already shut eyes. His knuckles were white, so tightly clenched that the blood didn't seem able to flow through. Maybe if he continued ignoring the black-haired boy, he would just leave him alone. Like a bee. Maybe if he stayed perfectly still, Harry would get bored and –

"Draco Lucien – "

"Shut _up!_ Go away! I don't like you!"

The stomping began again, and Draco made his way to a tree by the lake. It was strange how he rarely came outside, but it was the only place he could go now. Gryffindors had overruled the Head's station. Really aggressive Gryffindors… The blond reached a hand to his nose and felt the bandage there. His face was ruined. It was totally destroyed. And it was all because of that Weasel. The same Weasel that had invaded his personal space when he entered that portrait to see Granger and the kid. The same Weasel that got overly defensive about everything. It wasn't _Draco's_ fault that his family was so poor, was it? And it wasn't _Draco's_ fault that the other's body was mutilated by freckles and red hair. And it wasn't _Draco's_ fault that he was basically good for nothing. No, it wasn't his fault. It was the Weasel's. It was the Weasel's fault that Draco had started it.

Wait. How _had_ it started again?

"Draco Lucien Malfoy, are you mad at m– "

Oh yes. He remembered. "Yes. Yes I am! So leave me alone!"

He had woken up to the sounds of giggles. It wasn't a very good alarm clock, the blond realised as he thought back on it. It had put him in a rather foul mood. And then, as he had descended the steps into the living quarters of his supposed private station, he had found Weasley, Granger, and Potter all squashed together in his favourite chair. He had made some snide remark – probably witty, though Draco couldn't remember his own words at the moment – and Harry had begun to apologize. And then, because he had listened so well the night before, the boy had stopped himself. Draco had smirked, proud of having the power to shut the little brat up from his apologies, but then it happened. Ron had questioned _why_ Harry had cut himself off in the middle of a sentence. Harry had so eloquently explained that Draco Lucien Malfoy had told him he'd cut off his tongue and make him swallow it whole if he ever said 'sorry' again. One angry remark led to another, first remarks about how ferrets (they really should let that go) shouldn't be allowed to threaten their Precious Potter, then remarks about moving the Weasleys to a dump to have better living conditions for them all, and then a fist had collided with his gorgeous face. Sure Madame Pomfrey had put a bandage, and she might have said it was nothing, but it bloody well _hurt_!

"What did I do?"

"It's because of you that my face has a bandage on it! How am I supposed to live with this piece of white material covering what used to be my glorious nose? Now I'll be ugly forever!"

With a dramatic huff, the blond sat down against the tree and crossed his arms. Scowling deeply, Draco wondered if he should go see Pansy. Pansy Parkinson was always good at lifting his spirits. He always liked how she complimented him without shame when he was in need of it, and yet when he was perfectly fine, she'd tease him until his face was beet red. She belonged wholeheartedly to Slytherin.

"I think you're pretty."

"Yeah? Well no one cares what you think."

There was another huff on Draco's part, and had his arms not already been crossed, he would have crossed them. After a moment or two longer of sneering, he frowned, his arms loosening their grip on themselves, his fingers gently reaching to touch his face. He sighed. It needed to be on for a full day. How was he supposed to be seen in public like this?

"You don't care what I think?"

He had lost a lot of blood; he wouldn't be able to concentrate on any homework for the whole day. He was still dizzy from the impact. Now he'd be a day behind in his work!

"No."

"Are you sure?"

If only his father could see him now, all his charming, aristocratic looks gone, replaced by some kind of cast.

"Do I look like someone who would lie?"

Draco had snapped and was now glaring at the stupid five year old. The emerald eyes blinked, the too thin face frowned, and soon the boy was walking off sadly. Draco smiled. Finally, he could wallow in his misery alone. He nestled comfortably against the tree, sighing in relief. Make no mistake, he had not come to terms with his injury. The source of his relief was the lack of a certain pest.

It had been a wondrous ten minutes. It was an entire sixth of an hour without hearing tiny footsteps or unsure words. It was an entire six hundred seconds void of any messy black hair or watery green eyes. It was a small portion of the day where childish words weren't swimming in his mind.

"Draco Lucien Malfoy?"

And now it was over.

"What do you want from my life, Potter? _What?_ I can't handle this! I really can't! What compels you to stay near me? _What_?"

Draco's eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring rather unnecessarily. "Well?" he urged the little one on. Harry stood there, looking sheepish, hands behind his back.

"I'd apologize for telling Ron, but I'm not allowed. I didn't know he'd hurt you because of it." Yes, Draco knew that already. Potter had repeated those exact words all the way to the infirmary, and then explained the story to Madame Pomfrey, using, once again, those exact words. The woman probably hadn't understood, but she had seemed sympathetic enough towards him. Imagine that. She had been sympathetic towards the teary-eyed kid and not Draco, who had been mortally wounded. What kind of MediWitch was she?

"I know, Potter, but that's not a reason for you to keep following me."

"I got you a flower."

The Slytherin rolled his eyes. His grey hues remained on the ravenet, looking at him rather sceptically. Harry had a small, forced looking smile on his face. There was a silence around them, one that swept around the grass and over the lake. Finally, Draco rolled his eyes for a second time. "Let's see it, then."

Hastily, as if tearing himself away from a trance, the little boy brought both hands in front of himself, both grasping on to the same flower. A dandelion protruded from his little fist, its yellow bright against the dark green of the thorny-looking leaves. Harry's grin was so large that Draco though his face might crack. The blond let out a small chortle at the thought, but then looked away.

"It's an ugly flower."

He was watching Harry from the corner of his eye; even if he was a child, Draco still strived to get reactions out of him. It _was _an ugly flower, he hadn't been lying, but he hadn't been gentle either. His body, or rather his face, was itching to smirk, but he did no such thing. He had control, after all.

"Y-you… you don't like it?"

"No. It's not a flower, it's a weed. To think that you would offer me such a thing is insulting." Pale fingers picked some invisible speck off his clean robes. Draco liked to think the gesture made him look haughty.

"I didn't mean to insult you, Draco Lucien Malfoy."

"Potter, stop calling me that! Call me Malfoy. Remember how we practised it yesterday? Mal-foy. Malfoy!"

"But you call me Potter."

Draco blinked. What the hell did that have to do with anything? "Yeah. So?"

"Well, if you call me by that, I get to call you your full name."

"That doesn't make a sickle of sense!"

"Yes it does!" Harry was looking rather engrossed in the topic now. "See, 'cause I don't know why I should call you 'Malfoy', and I don't know why you call me 'Potter', so until you call me 'Harry', I won't be able to - … Wait. What's a sickle?"

Draco scoffed. "Can you say 'Short attention span'?" A chuckle escaped him. Honestly! Had Harry just caught on to what had been said? Maybe his brain was too small to register too much at once.

"Short attention span."

"…" And there it was, proof of the small brain that was being held captive in Potter's skull. Draco shook his head and tried to remember what they were talking about. "You know what? Names don't even matter. What's important in this conversation is that that flower is ugly, I don't like it, so you should go away." He nodded once, a sign he hoped Harry would see as one that meant there was nothing more to discuss, and he stood from his place on the floor.

"Where're you – "

"Away from you!"

Another angry outburst was followed by more stomping away. He'd go back to his dorm. That sounded nice. Granger and Weasley were probably gone to get breakfast or something, so he could be alone. How he missed solitude. He had definitely taken it for granted his whole life. Now that Harry Potter was even more annoying than he used to be, he realised just how much he loved his privacy.

"Can I come with you?"

"No you cannot! How can I get _away_ from you if you're coming _with_ me?"

"We could play hide and seek!"

"Fine. You go hide, and I'll come get you in a few years."

"That's what Dudley says to me…"

"Well I quite like this Dudley. Maybe I'll go find him and we can talk about how much we both don't want to find you."

Draco willed himself not to turn around. So what if he couldn't hear footsteps behind him anymore? So what if Harry had stopped? That was good. It was good that he wasn't being followed. Good. _Good!_ His mind screamed this over and over to him, but still he turned around, not without preparing a thoroughly agravated look on his face first.

There stood Harry, his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking from what was, quite possibly, sobbing. The blond could see the tears leaking from his hands. He could hear little whimpers and breaths if he strained his ears. A little piece of Draco's admittedly inexistent heart broke.

"Potter?"

"He's right. No one ever wants to find me. I just… I just…" The tiny Gryffindor wiped at his eyes with the palms of his hands, his glasses falling to the floor. "Crying's for babies. I'm such a baby. I'm a baby nobody wants. Not even my parents wanted me…"

Draco was frowning. Deeply. What was he ranting on about?

"Dud-Dudley says they were dogs." There was a pause where Harry hiccupped. "Said even the dogs didn't want me…"

What was he supposed to do? Harry's sobbing had gotten worse, and Draco was able to make something out more things about babies and dogs. He didn't think he had ever seen someone with such a low self-esteem. And that was saying something, because Draco was a bully, and he spent most of his time insulting people.

"Potter?"

But the name did nothing for the little boy.

"Potter, I didn't… Well, I didn't mean it. I was just frustrated, you know. I mean, if we _did_ play, I'd come find you."

Still nothing.

"Harry? Please stop crying." Draco flinched. Not only had he muttered his first name, but there was a 'please' as well. Why he was doing this, who could say? As long as Harry stopped crying, any means was alright.

Harry looked up, his face red and blotchy. Draco grimaced, thankful for some reason that the boy would never know he grimaced, and bent down to pick up the fallen glasses. He put them on his face, not caring if the tears would just make them foggy or whatever it was tears did to glasses.

"M'sorry."

"What did I say about apologizing?"

"M'sorry."

Draco rolled his eyes. Still, he stayed there, unsure of what he was supposed to do. His chest was fluttering at the sight of what he had caused, and he wished he could take it back – though no one would believe him, even if he _wanted _to tell someone about such a feeling.

A long time passed where nothing happened, nothing besides Harry trying to stop crying. Once the last of Harry's sniffles had ceased, the emerald sparkles had spent a good few minutes just staring at the blond. Draco felt rather unnerved by this.

"What?" he finally asked, sounding a bit irritated.

"Can you call me Harry all the time? Please?"

Draco chewed on his bottom lip, hesitating. "Err…"

"Please?"

"I don't kno – "

"Draco!"

Draco's eyes snapped away from his mini-enemy and looked around.

"Over here!"

He looked towards the castle, but far too late. The girl had already swung herself into his arms, grabbing onto his neck and grinning.

"Miss me?"

"Not really…" Draco smirked, prying her arms off his neck. She pouted playfully and let go.

"Well, I missed you. You storm off in Potions, then I don't see you for the remnants of the day, _and then_ you skip breakfast! Leaves a gal wondering, you know?"

It was at about this time that the girl noticed the five year old staring at them. Her bubbly demeanour quickly evaporated, and her face became rigid and emotionless. She almost looked like a doll. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice completely void of any of the happiness she had been demonstrating just a few seconds earlier. Damn she was good at that.

"Pansy, this is… This is Potter." She raised a brow at the blond, obviously confused. Draco ignored her. Harry was staring at the floor forlornly.

"How do you do," she said, tilting her head in acknowledgement. Harry said nothing.

"Potter? Aren't you going to greet my friend?"

Harry said nothing. Draco sighed. He knew what he had to do… He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Harry, this is my friend, Pansy Parkinson."

Harry immediately looked up and grinned. "Nice to meet you, Pansy."

"Harry?" Pansy asked, her voice an octave higher – which really was too much for Draco's ears to handle.

"Yes." His eyes were shut once more. "This is _Harry_." The words were almost hissed out, but Harry didn't seem to mind.

"Do you want a flower?"

Draco's eyes opened, ready to sputter out an angry comment of already calling the flower ugly, but Harry wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Pansy, the girl who wore too much makeup than was probably healthy, who always had her hair black and straight, yet different each day. And this Pansy was quite unsure of what to say. She looked at Draco, as if wondering if it was alright to talk to this Harry. Draco nodded his head tiredly, and she smiled softly. He had a feeling that recognising him as 'Harry' was going to cost him.

"I'd love a flower, _Harry_."

He narrowed his eyes. Why was the name 'Harry' said like that? Such a conspiratorial tone, it was. Was she _mocking _him?

Harry offered her the same dandelion he had offered Draco, and Pansy grinned, a rare site for a non-Slytherin to see. Harry smiled shyly upon seeing her reaction. Pansy brought the yellow flower to her nose and took a big whiff. "Ah, it smells lovely. You're quite the flower picker, I must say."

Harry blushed and smiled wider. He wiped his nose with his sleeve but Pansy, unlike Draco, didn't seem to care.

"So how are you Harry?"

Harry shrugged, and Draco crossed his arms. He felt a little left out. It was _his_ flower in the first place, he'd have her know.

And so, the unlikely trio walked back into the castle, Pansy obviously finding Harry not at all a threat because she was chewing Draco's ear off with the latest gossip. The blond couldn't help but smirk. Harry liked to make an input, asking strange, muggle questions which neither of them could answer. It was this way that they had spent the day, without Hermione or Ron.

But there was one thing no one was aware of. No one but the figure who had watched them, that was. Only this person, this shadow, this being, knew of the plan. The plan had been formed when certain people hadn't left their noses out of what wasn't theirs. A plan that would make things right again. And only this person knew what was in the sealed letter that the owl was sending, and only _they_ knew who it was going to.

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**A/N: **Dun dun DAAAAAAAA! Sorry, sound effects were needed... n//n;; 


	5. The Letter

**Disclaimer: **Do I have to put this at the top of every chapter? I think I forgot once. Ah well. I do not own any of the characters or settings in this fic. No money is being made by this. All I have is the little plot bunny that made this happen. And what a cute bunny it was, all white and fluffy... Ahem, moving on.

**A/N:** Took longer than usual to get this fic down. I had to restart a lot, and I'm STILL not satisfied with it. Ah well. Guess I'll live. Hope you enjoy it! nn

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They weren't attached. That was a horrible way of looking at it. To use the word 'attach' would mean that Draco _liked_ the little bugger. It would mean that he felt some kind of non-threatening emotion towards him. It would mean that Harry had some, however small, value in Draco's heart.

He most certainly did _not_.

It had been a week since Harry Potter's transformation. Actually, it was more than that. It had been eleven days - not that Draco had been counting or anything. No, he simply kept track of things. Yes, he would stick with that story. Draco Malfoy kept track of everything. Sounded plausible enough, in his opinion. Out of those eleven days, four of them had been spent with Harry permanently at his side for over ten hours of that day, with Pansy following. He hadn't introduced the little one to Vince or Greg yet, because, well, if Vince or Greg saw that Draco wasn't killing the defenceless boy, they might just owl his father. That wouldn't be pleasant.

The other six days had been spent without the constant presence. Sort of. See, no matter what, Draco still always saw Harry in the morning and in the evenings, seeing as he lived in the Head's quarters. And Harry also sat at the Slytherin table sometimes during meals. The blond usually did all he could to ignore him, but the raged look on Weasley's face was enough for him not to discourage the boy completely. Weasley was taking all this way too personally. It wasn't his fault that Draco was naturally more interesting than he.

Of course, it wasn't always amusing with Potter around. The boy, every time Draco would look at him the wrong way, would start claiming that he was a good boy, that he would clean and cook to redeem himself. And each time Draco was more and more disturbed. What the hell kind of Boy Who Lived said things like that?

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

And it seemed that for the eleventh day, Harry would take it upon himself to annoy the hell out of Draco.

"Are you awake?"

"Hmm…"

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you were awake. Are you?"

"No."

"I think you are."

"No one asked you."

"But I asked _you_. And you lied. Which means you're awake."

"Who says I lied?"

"No one. I just think you're lying."

"Well you're wrong. I am most definitely asleep."

"Oh, okay."

There was a long silence. Draco hoped that was the end of that. He nuzzled his face into his pillow, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep until the dreadful Monday morning forced him to awake, but Harry would have none of that it seemed.

"Draco?"

The blond remained quiet. The silent tactic never seemed to work with the other, but he never gave up hope that one day Draco's lack of voice would cause the other to shut up.

"Draco, can you hear me?"

"No."

"Are you still asleep?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, can you tell me when you wake up? I need to ask you something."

Draco, it seemed, would have no time to just lie in bed and think in hopes of getting at least a _little _more rest. Damn little Potter. He sat up and stretched, yawning, taking his sweet time. Eventually, his eyes narrowed and fell on the ravenet sitting on the edge of his bed.

"What?" he asked, the look of annoyance clearly on his face. And the little, sodding brat was looking at him all innocent like and whatnot. At six in the morning, it was enough for Draco to want to reach out and shove him off the bed.

"Are you a prince?"

"I… what?"

Draco blinked, quite uncertain that he had heard right. Harry nodded, confirming his question. "Are you?"

"You think I am?"

"Well… yeah." The little boy looked into his lap and stared hard there. " 'Mione told me a story last night, 'bout a prince, 'n she said that a prince is the son of a king. She told me princes are beautiful and rich, and they dress in really fancy clothes. So I thought you were one. Are you?"

It hadn't registered to Draco that Harry had finally found a way to say Hermione's name. How could he register something like that when his mind had gone from groggy to giddy in three seconds flat? He was _definitely_ complimented by this. There was no reason for young Harry Potter not to think he was a prince. As he had said, Draco fit the part. What a brilliant boy Harry was. Honestly. It didn't get much smarter than that.

"Why are you interested?" the Slytherin asked with a raised brow, looking every bit as cocky as he felt.

" 'Cause if you were a prince, then I'd be friends with a prince! And can you imagine all the cool prince-related things we could do together?"

He couldn't help it; Draco let out a chuckle. And then a groan, as he pulled himself out of his too comfortable bed. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble Harry, but I'm not a prince. I _am_ rich and handsome, though."

"Oh. But not a prince?"

"Nope." He made his way towards the bathroom.

"Then what title do you hold?"

"None."

"Oh."

Draco slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. He could hear Harry from the other side, though. It seemed to be an important conversation, since the other wasn't letting it go. The teenager didn't mind one bit.

"Are you a duke?"

"Nope."

"A knight?"

"Nope."

"A nobleman?"

"Nope."

"A bird?"

At this, Draco paused in his 'morning-freshen-up' routine. "A what?"

"A bird. There's a bird at your window. Real pretty, too. I think it wants to come in."

The half-dressed male opened the door, his bottle of cologne – not perfume, he kept arguing to Pansy, but _cologne_ – being held in his pale hand. "A bird?"

And there it was, pecking at the window. A handsome eagle owl, a rather irritated looking one at that, was on the ledge with a scroll in its talons. It only took a moment for Draco to put down his bottle of wondrous scents and cross the room to let the creature in. It dropped the note from its clutches and swooped out the window again, not even waiting for a treat. Bad.

"Don't the birds only come in when we're all eating breakfast?"

"Y-yeah…"

Draco looked at the seal on his scroll; it was familiar. Obviously. What kind of Malfoy would he be if he didn't know what his family crest looked like? He found his hand was trembling slightly, and he scolded himself mentally for it. It was just a letter. Just a letter from his parents. Just an unexpected letter. Bad.

Maybe his grandmother died. Yes. And his mother sent him an urgent note, telling him to pack up and go home for the funeral procession. That would be splendid. Or maybe his parents were planning something extra special just for him, and they had gotten Snape to excuse him from the day's classes just so they could spend time together. Because Draco was their only son. They loved Draco. And nothing bad could come from this letter, because Draco was their little darling, their angel, their heir. Right. Good.

"Are you gonna open it? Who's it from?"

The Slytherin shot the younger boy a glare, not in the mood of being rushed. "It's an important letter, Harry. I need to take my time."

"Can't you take your time a little faster?"

Draco decided to ignore him. Harry climbed on the bed again – he was getting better at it – and stared at the blond expectantly, waiting for an update on the contents of the parchment. The teenager carefully took off the wax seal and unrolled the sheet.

_'Draco,'_

Very bad. Any letter that didn't start with a 'dearest' before his name was _definitely_ bad.

_'We hear that the Boy Who Lived has become a child. Did you not think of telling us this? A source tells me you have gotten much too comfortable with him. A source. Not you, but a source. How do you think your mother and I felt upon reading a letter that tells us something we should have been notified of instantly, and by you no less.'_

"Draco, are you okay?"

"Shut up!" he snapped, his hands trembling a bit harder. He continued reading.

_'We are greatly disappointed in you. We hope you have plans for your new 'friend', and if not, we hope you will be able to face the consequence of your negligence to this matter. Do you not see how important it is? Do you not see the opportunities given to you? We expect a lot from you, Draco. I want you to know that whatever your punishment, if punishment be needed, that I do it only so you learn your lesson, not because I enjoy it. Do not dissatisfy us, son._

_-- L.M'_

"Draco, are you oka- "

"I said shut up!" His grey eyes were wide and unable to rip away from his father's words. Punishment? Punishment from a family allied with the Dark Lord was not something he wished to go through. Ever. It was something he had hoped to be shielded from since his family was so rich and powerful. And now that blasted little sod had put him on the bad side of his parents. The little snot had endangered him. It was all Harry's fault. "You little bugger! They'll hurt me now! Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

Harry seemed to recoil at the volume, at the intensity, of Draco's words. Green eyes stare at the blond, confused and hurt. "I… I didn't do anything…"

"I told you to stay away from me, didn't I?"

"But… but we're friends…"

"Shut _up_! I'm not you're friend. Do you know what they'll do to me? Do you know? My family wouldn't get it, wouldn't understand, and what if they – " A thought struck Draco, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. "They'll tell Him. They'll tell _Him_. Oh Merlin, oh no, oh what have I done." He stared at the little boy on his bed, unable to believe he hadn't thought of it before. The Dark Lord surely wouldn't take their friendship lightly. But they weren't friends! They weren't. But all the time they've been spending together… that evidence would be against him, not for him.

His mind was already pounding with the possibilities. Crucios - multiple ones. One for every minute he spent not hurting the boy. Imperios - making him hurt himself, his friends. Making him kill people. Making him kill _Harry_. Breaths were becoming much harder; it felt like his lungs were rejecting the oxygen. Kill Harry Potter. He might have thought about it, might have spoken about it, when the other was still a teen. He might even have told the plan to any Slytherin who would listen. But this was different. That was just talk. The Dark Lord really did want him dead, and if Draco was in the position to do it…

"It's all your bloody fault!" he cried, snarling at the little boy. Harry pressed his body against the headboard, staring at Draco with his pitiful green eyes, and Draco's face contorted into more rage. "Get out! Get the bleeding fuck out of my room! _Now_!"

The green eyes began tearing, but he didn't care. He couldn't care. If Draco cared, then bad things would happen to him, and Draco couldn't handle things that bad. The little figure climbed off the bed and scurried away, almost tripping over himself, and the Slytherin still snarled. He'd skip classes today, he decided, and spend it alone.

"Harry love, what's wrong?" Hermione's voice floated into his room, and his snarl seemed to evaporate slowly. Harry was crying. And not sobbing like he used to do when he couldn't find his favourite toy; this boy's sobs were soft and choked, as if he was really hurt. But he was only five years old, Draco's mind argued. He couldn't possibly be that hurt. "What happened? Did Malfoy do something to you?" His ears were straining to hear the answer, and he found himself angry with himself for it.

Before he knew it, the guilt was building up inside him, and he walked towards his door, looking out of it discreetly. There was Granger, kneeling by Potter and hugging him, the little boy clinging to her. And then someone else came towards them, and picked Harry up.

"It's alright, Harry. He's mean. I told you, didn't I? It's better if you don't talk to him anymore. Just a jerk, he is. Shouldn't spend time with him anymore, mate. Just us. I'll take care of you. No more talking to that mean bloke, okay?" He was glaring at Ron now, angry with him for saying such a thing to Harry. What right did have to say that? But when Harry nodded, Draco was sure his heart had melted. He was agreeing. Agreeing with the Weasel. The fact hurt him, more than slightly, but he paid no mind to it.

Good. Harry would be out of his hair now. Let Weasel and Know It All take care of him. Draco didn't care. Not at all.

He walked back to his bed and threw himself on it. There were more important things to think about than his punishment for all this. Such as… such as the fact that his father had a source here at Hogwarts. He glared at his ceiling. A spy. But who here knew about his relationship with the little snot? And then it hit him: Pansy. It had to be her. Damn it! She was supposed to be his friend, his ally.

Something shocked the blond out of his angry thoughts; there was a shriek, a loud cry, coming from outside his room. Practically falling off his bed, his eyes wide, he ran out of his dorm and down the stairs. What he saw made him freeze and stare, his eyebrows so far up his forehead they were almost part of his hair line.

"H-Harry?"


	6. Just A Selfish Slytherin

**A/N:** 'Ello. This chapter... well... uh... I sorta love it, but I sorta don't. It's weird in my mind. I'll try to make the next chapter fluffier, a little. nn But I won't be here next week, I'm on a cruise (first ever, woot!) and so there won't be an update too soon. But as soon as I get back, I'll be working on it! Thanks for the lovely reviews!

**Disclaimer: **No money is being made off this - I _wish_ - and I don't own any of the characters.

* * *

It wasn't Harry anymore. But it wasn't _not_ Harry, either. No, Draco was being stupid. It _was _Harry, just not the _same_ Harry.

There was a moment of silence that followed the shriek, and that moment had been filled with nothing by staring at the raven-haired boy. After ten seconds of that, Ron had exploded.

"You _bastard_! What did you do to him? Tell me now, you good for nothing, loathsome little git! Change him back. Change him back _now_! How _dare_ you touch my best mate? I told you, didn't I, Hermione? I told you nothing good would come out of Harry spending time with him. Now look at him! Just look! Something's gone wrong! He's _done _something to him!"

Hermione walked up to Ron and took hold of his shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, get a hold of yourself or so help me Merlin I'll tell your mum about that stash of dirty magazines I found under your mattress." Hermione really did have a thing for swearing in front of Potter, didn't she? Her voice was harsh and serious, and it seemed to do the trick. At any rate, Ron had stopped yelling at the top of his lungs.

The redhead glared hard at Draco, who found it rather hard to ignore. Why was the blame on him? That wasn't very fair… Just because he had just been yelling at their Golden Boy didn't mean he had hexed him…

Done with Weasley, Hermione walked towards Harry and knelt down. The Slytherin was rather glad she naturally took charge – though that could go on the list of things he'd never say, even if being tortured to death. The little male in the centre of the room was currently looking very frightened. Draco guessed it was a combination of his own previous temper with him, Hermione's first shriek, but mainly Ron's outburst.

"Harry love, are you in pain?" The boy shook his head. "Did Malfoy – "

"Draco," Harry corrected absently.

"Er… Draco, then. Did Draco make you eat something?" He shook his head. "Drink something?" Shook his head. "Did he point his wand at you?" And again, he shook his head. Hermione sighed, stood, and looked over at Ron. "See? Malfoy didn't do anything."

"Nothing Harry knows about," the redhead muttered. Draco was beginning to lose his patience with the other teenage male. It seemed, so was Hermione.

"Honestly, Ron. Get over it. If Harry likes Malfoy, he likes Malfoy! That's it!"

"But Malfoy's a threat! He _hates_ Harry."

"If Harry wants to be his friend, leave him be. You know just as well as I do what a horrible childhood he had. Let him be happy this time around."

"Hermione, this is Malfoy. _Malfoy_. You don't seem to understand that! What, are you on _his_ side now? Rather defend him than me, s'that it?"

"Don't start with me, Ron. I don't like him, you don't like him, I _know_ that – "

"Then why – "

"We don't need to be his friend. We need to accept that he's _Harry's_ friend - "

"But he's not – "

"Both of you, shut _up_!"

They stopped talking and stared at Draco, Ron's look more than murderous. The blond paid no attention to him. Throughout their entire yelling match, Harry had looked down at himself and seen the changes; he was wide eyed and even more frightened than before. Now he was staring at the other two of the broken trio as if they had an explanation for everything.

"Can't you see he doesn't know what the hell you're talking about?"

Grey and green met, but the younger boy briskly turned away. Obviously their little spat had not been forgotten.

"And what do you suppose we do about this?" Weasley snapped, gesturing wildly towards Harry.

Draco snarled at the redhead and did exactly as he had done the first time Harry had changed: picked him up in his arms and began walking out of the room with him. He wasn't too sure where here was going, but he was certain Harry needed to be taken away from those two. Someone would know how to fix this… For the moment, the letter was forgotten.

"Now he's gone and kidnapped him!" cried an outraged Ron. Hermione sighed, but was quick to follow the other into the hall.

"You know, what happened to him… it's probably a good thing…" Hermione said, very quietly. It sounded to Draco like she was afraid Ron would hear and go berserk again. Harry began squirming in Draco's arms.

"Merlin, stop that! I'll drop you!"

"Lemme go!" Harry cried, and Draco could see the green orbs become watery. It was hard to mask his own features, but he managed.

"Harry, this is serious. We need to know if – "

"Lemme go!" He yelled it louder this time, managing to shove Draco, weakening him enough to be dropped. A little 'oomph' escaped the blond, and he staggered back. He glared hard at the little boy who picked himself.

"Potter, why are you being so insufferable! I'm trying to help you – "

"No you're not," he muttered lowly, grabbing a tight hold of Hermione's hand. "You're not my friend anymore." Hermione looked at Draco with a raised brow. Draco merely scowled at her and crossed his arms. It didn't make sense to follow Harry _now_, did it? They weren't friends anymore. Right. Because Harry's friendship caused his father to be ashamed. Because Harry's presence caused him to be in danger of the Dark Lord. Because Harry was stupid, and they weren't friends anymore.

"Fine! Go then! I don't like you anyway! Stay away from me, you stupid brat!"

He felt rather immature standing in the middle of the hall and yelling at the younger boy, but it didn't matter. Harry didn't look back, just gripped the girl's hand harder, and they continued on their way. To the infirmary, no doubt.

Draco stumbled forward as someone shoved him hard. "Stay away from my friend," Ron whispered darkly, before marching quickly to rejoin Harry and Hermione. Draco growled at his retreating back, but said nothing. Things were terrible, but Hermione was right. It was probably a good change. Not that he cared. He couldn't care.

And yet, two hours later, he found himself sneaking towards the Infirmary. They hadn't been back yet, and, well, it wasn't that Draco was _worrying_, because if he worried, his father might be notified. The _last_ thing he wanted was to further disappoint his father. So he was merely here because he had misplaced his Ancient Runes book, and he wondered if Hermione had taken it accidentally.

"Granger, a word if you – "

"What? Why are you here? Get out! Harry told us all about what you did. Leave here, immediately! No one wants to see your stupid face!"

Draco raised a brow. "I don't believe I was talking to you, Weasley. Nor am I here for Harry. I wanted to know if Granger saw my – "

Before he knew it, he was being dragged outside by the arm, by a flustered looking Granger. She shut the door and looked at Draco, almost worriedly. "All that stuff you said to Harry," she started.

"He told you?" Draco's face became paler than usual.

"I'm not sure what that letter said, Malfoy, but you really hurt him."

"He'll understand. He's only five years old – "

"Actually," Hermione said, a small smile on his lips, "he's nine now."

"He… er…"

"That was the change. Madame Pomfrey said it's good. With these symptoms, it'll only take a few hours for Snape to find out what Harry added to his potion. Then we'll see what we can do about it. He'll have memories of both childhoods – that's what Madame Pomfrey says, anyway."

"So that was the change. That's _it_?"

"You look relieved, Malfoy." Was Hermione…? She was _smirking_ at him! Draco scowled instantly. What the hell kind of world did they live in where Hermione Granger smirked at Draco Malfoy? That was just too messed up. But her smirk left her, and a more worried look came across her face. "Look, like I said before, I don't know who sent the letter, or what it was about exactly, but you really should apologize to him. He took it real hard …"

"I don't care. I can't be around him anymore. It's nothing _you_'d be able to understand, Granger." She seemed to ignore his tone completely. She looked down, then back at him.

"Then why are you here?"

Draco fought with his mind, trying to remember his excuse. Something about her… something about… uhm…

"I thought so." She turned around and put her hand on the door, about to open it, but paused. "I think you should go in. He really does like you, you know. It would be nice if he knew you weren't mad at him."

"I can't. I _am_ mad at him."

The door swung and she walked in, and he swore he heard a sigh. He sighed himself.

So that was the change. Harry Potter was no longer five, but nine. Had jumped a few years ahead. That was all. It just happened so suddenly. One minute he was one way, another minute, another way. But would he keep growing forever? Merlin he hoped Snape could fix this as soon as possible.

Draco's eyes widened. He remembered his excuse!

He entered the Hospital Wing and smirked smugly. "My Ancient Runes book, Granger. Do you have it?" Madame Pomfrey looked at him like he had gone a little soft in the head, but Hermione merely scoffed and rolled her eyes. Ron glared at him, though. What was lodged up _his_ arse?

"Malfoy, I swear to Merlin, go away."

"Hey, whatever happened to Harry – "

"It's _Potter_ to you," Ron hissed, but Draco ignored him.

" - wasn't my fault! Unless you want to blame me for making him grow a few years…"

"Get out! He doesn't want to see you! You hurt him! Go _away_!"

"You're not my mother, Weasley! I don't have to listen to you!"

"He doesn't like you, Malfoy! No one likes you! Leave my friend alone!"

"He's not _yours_ Weasley! You don't control him! You don't have a say on what he does or doesn't do."

"I heard you yelling at him in your room! How can you still want to be his friend after that letter, huh? How?"

Draco paused, a puzzled expression on his face, mingling with the anger there. He was taking shallow breaths, as was Ron, but something disturbing was going on. How did he know –

"Harry, Darling!"

In came a prim Slytherin, flinging herself onto the boy's bed. "Look how much you've grown, Sweetheart! Such a big boy! Merlin, did I forget your birthday?" The girl turned towards Draco. "Did you make me forget his birthday?" She pointed a long, manicured finger at him, before turning back to Harry. "No worries then, darling. I'll buy you something nice. Sorry I don't have anything now. I didn't know! You should've told me! We could've all gone out, no, we _will_ go out to celebrate – "

"A_hem._"

Pansy looked up from the sheepishly smiling and blushing boy to see who had interrupted her. Ron looked on the verge of tapping his foot impatiently. That would have caused the blond to snort with laughter. "Oh, well, you two can come, too," Pansy said, as if just realising who else was in the room. "After all, you're Harry's friends, and it _is_ his birthday."

Harry was grinning brightly on the bed. "Really?"

"Actually," Ron interjected, glaring at the girl, "his birthday's in July."

"Oh…" Harry looked rather dejected. "I-I've never had a birthday celebration before…"

"Really? Well that settles it! We'll need to throw an extra big birthday bash, now won't we? Oh, can you imagine all the new stuff you'll get? I don't think I have enough money. Hmm, when's our next Hogsmeade weekend? I'll have to borrow some galleons from father. I don't think he'd mind."

Hermione seemed happy with the idea, smiling brightly from where she stood, but Ron scowled. Draco watched as the Gryffindor girl saw this, sighed, and began dragging Ron out of the room. "Hermione, I'm not leaving them alone with him! Stop that!"

Soon, it was just Madame Pomfrey, Pansy, Harry, and Draco, though the last of the mentioned people seemed to be ignored. Pansy was still speaking animatedly about a birthday party, already having everything from the decorations to the entertainment planned, when Harry's eyes shifted to Draco, and his grin wavered slightly.

"Pansy…?"

"Yes, Darling?"

"How long have you been Draco's friend?"

"A _long_ time, Sweety. Why?"

"Did he ever… yell at you?"

Did Harry even know he was in the room? Of course, he had just looked his way. Maybe the little one had thought him a hallucination or something, because he was speaking as if Draco wouldn't hear. So said male leaned against the wall, listening and tilting his head in interest. The information Harry was about to divulge might be useful to make amends… if he ever wanted to.

"Loads of times. Pulls hissy fits _constantly_."

"Does he ever tell you to go away?"

"Yep. All the time. Actually, I don't think he's ever told me he wanted me with him. Hmm. Remind me to kick his arse, later." Draco saw her glance his way and give him a dark look, her smile rather malicious. He would have gulped theatrically, had he not been feeling completely awful.

"Is he usually mean with you?"

"Wouldn't be Draco if he was _nice_, now would he?"

"Does he usually say he's not your friend anymore? Does he… does he usually scream at you? D-does… does he…"

"Darling, Darling, shh…"

He was crying again. Damn it. Draco knocked his head against the wall and stared up, glaring at the ceiling. It was different now, made his heart ache more, because the boy was older. It was different to see a little boy sob, and to watch an older boy cry. Pansy crawled on the bed, wrapping Harry in her arms like a safety blanket. The male couldn't take much more of this. The anger was about to explode inside him and he stomped his way towards the bed Harry was laying on, glaring angrily at Pansy.

"How could you?" he cried. Harry seemed shocked to see him, but the blond ignored him completely.

"I don't know what you're – "

"How _could_ you?" he yelled, his face contorted in rage. "Pansy! You're my friend! My _friend_! How could you do that to me? Do you know what they'll do? _Do you_?"

Pansy sat upright, Harry still in her lap, her face scrunched up in fury. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Draco, but I'll not be spoken to in that tone!" She pointed her wand at the curtain around the bed and, with a flick, it swished shut, and with a whispered murmur, a privacy bubble was cast around them. "Now tell me what you're ranting on about."

Draco searched his pocket, found the letter, and thrust it at her. "Don't mock my intelligence, Pansy! It has to be you. There's no one else! And because of you, my father is mad with me! Do you know what he'll make me to do him?" He nodded in Harry's direction. "What _He'll_ do to _me_?" Harry, now bigger than he was used to, tried to back up as much as he could against the female Slytherin. It almost looked like he was _glaring_ at Draco, as much as an inexperienced irate person might.

It was silent, Draco trying to get more air into his system as he waited for Pansy's reaction at the letter's contents. She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, and finally, she looked up at Draco.

"I didn't tell him. I didn't tell anyone. Honest, Draco. I would never do that to you, to him. I've grown fond of Harry, you know. I would never - "

"_Don't lie!_"

Pansy took a deep breath. "Draco, I promise you I didn't say anything to your father about this." The paper was handed back to him, but the male didn't take it. Grey hues softened, but they weren't kind. They were desperate now. If not Pansy, then who?

Everything was tense in the room for a long while; Draco wasn't sure what to do. Nothing seemed right. Pansy held Harry's now older body against her own, trying to calm him down – the tears hadn't stopped.

"Who's gonna hurt you, Draco?" Harry asked, his voice barely audible. He looked so innocent with his tears and magnified eyes, but Draco could hear it in his voice, the small hint of sarcasm, something he hadn't heard from _this _Potter yet, only the one that had been his age. "Who are you so scared of?"

Draco's anger, since it hadn't wholly vanished, was now directed to that insolent little child. "I have a bloody good reason to be scared! Don't start with me, Potter! Everything would have been so much better if I'd just continued hating you!"

There was a pause, and finally: "But you don't hate me?"

Harry's brows furrowed together, as if he was trying to understand. This only made Draco snarl, but Pansy reached out and put her hand on his arm. He stared at it; it had a strange effect on him, calming him, weighing him back towards reality, away from his anger. "Because… because you're really mean, Draco Lucien Malfoy, but… but if you don't hate me…" The little boy hesitated, before wriggling out of Pansy's lap and digging a hand through the folds of his miniature robe pockets. He pulled out quite a ruffled looking thing: a long, green, crooked stem branched out, making a few, smooth – though flattened – leaves, and eventually, the stem came to a stop, where white petals erupted from a bright yellow centre.

Draco stared at it, unsure what to say. Harry held it out in front of him, looking apprehensive, but leaving his hand there anyway. "I-I got it this morning. While you were asleep. Before you… before you…"

Draco took the flower slowly and examined it. For the first time in his life, Draco was at a loss for words. He looked at Harry, but the other looked down, and went back into Pansy's lap.

"It's an ugly flower…" Draco finally murmured, looking at it again. "I don't like it."

Harry looked absolutely shattered. The smile that had been threatening to break out on his face was no more. Instead, he looked confused and heartbroken. Pansy was looking at him like… well, the blond didn't even want to think what emotion that could be. It didn't matter. The Dark Lord would hurt the Draco if he stayed around too much. And Draco didn't want to get hurt. He was a selfish Slytherin at heart, and Harry Potter wasn't about to change that.

He walked to the exit, his legs taking their time to get to the exit. It took a great effort, seeing as it felt like his body was made of lead. He paused at the door, and looked at the trash bin beside it. He opened his palm and let the flower slowly float into the waste basket. Pansy huffed angrily, unable to believe he could do such a thing… Let her make all the sounds she wanted, Draco's mind said. It wouldn't change anything. She stared at the sheets, ashamed at her friend's behaviour.

But Harry saw. He saw the wand slip out of Draco's sleeve, watched as the flower zoomed back into his hand at a high speed. He had seen Draco take it back, when he thought everyone was too angry with him to look.

And Harry let out a tiny, hopeful smile.


	7. Too Much Information

**A/N:** Mmkay. Not fluffy. This is the chapter where information is given. We are now less confused. Yay! But the spy is still out there, watching, waiting... -evil cackle- Anyway, hope you like the chapter. Already workin' on the next one. Next one will be nice and fluffy. I think. I actually made a plan for this fic while I was on the cruise! I'm quite proud of my self. Now, onto the story!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing Harry Potter related. I know, sucks to be me. And, FYI, this isn't HBP compliant, if you haven't realised it by now. They're seventeen (supposed to be, in Harry's case) and they have the same history together as in the books, but, y'know, Draco and Snape haven't run off, and Dumbledore still offers people lemon drops. That is all.

* * *

Now he had two flowers. Two flowers he really ought to burn. Both of them were ugly, anyway. A weed and a crumpled thinger. And how he had fought with Pansy to get that stupid dandelion, using the excuse that it had been offered to him first, thus it rightfully belonged to him. And this flower… No one had seen him, he was sure. Draco had the fastest Accio charm to his knowledge. But he shouldn't have done that. He should have let it rot away in that trash bin, a stupid white flower that he didn't even want.

This was getting out of hand. The boy had wedged a way into Draco's heart, and he wasn't sure he could handle much more of it. He had firmly stated he never wanted to see the other again, decidedly admitted that he didn't ever want to be around him, and yet here he was, stealing stupid flowers out of stupid garbage cans.

It was now supper time, and Draco, for the first time in his seven years of Hogwarts, had skipped an entire day of class without an excuse. He hoped his father's source wouldn't know – he didn't need his father to get more disappointed than necessary.

This 'source' thing was starting to piss him off. If not Pansy, than who? Who could his father be corresponding with? And was he supposed to answer the letter? Oh yes, he could see that playing well in his parents' eyes.

'Dear Parents,' his mind mused, 'I'm dreadfully sorry for befriending the Boy Who Lived. I really didn't mean to. He's just tiny, cute, and insecure. Follows me around like a puppy, he does. Sickening, but there isn't anything I can do about it. Since I cannot control his strange attraction to me, I shouldn't be punished. It's as simple as that. Love, your one and only, delicate son, Draco. P.S.: Mind not telling the Dark Lord? Thanks.'

He could just imagine the response. A strangled chuckle left him, though it wasn't at all funny. He groaned as he rolled over in his bed – which he hadn't left since he'd returned from the Infirmary. The organ that was supposed to contain his food growled it's anger at being empty, but there was no way he was leaving his dorm. The door was locked and charmed with wards to keep Gryffindors at bay... but they weren't back yet. Even after all this time, they weren't back. He knew this because he had been shamelessly listening for any sound. Nothing reached his ears.

A breath escaped him as he tried to sort out his thoughts for the seventy-second time that day. Pansy wasn't the spy, so who was? What exactly would his father do to him? The winter holidays were fast approaching… would he be punished then? Should he reply to the letter? What would happen if he didn't? What was he supposed to do about the little Harry that was always on his mind? Would he ever stop growing? Would Snape find a way to fix it? Would things go back to normal once he was seventeen again? Would he still be fascinated with him? Would Harry leave him alone? Did he want Harry to leave him alone? Would he be as cold with him as he used to be, never smiling in his direction, only scowling and glaring?

Sorting his thoughts didn't seem to be working for the same reason it had failed all other seventy-one times. There were just too many questions he didn't want answered.

"Mister Malfoy, why are you clutching those things as if your life depended on it?"

Draco gasped and sat up in his bed, staring around wildly, absently releasing the two flowers from his hand. His heart had momentarily stopped beating, and his wide eyes finally fell on a tall, greasy haired man who was staring at him with a raised brow.

"Professor!" the blond exclaimed. "How did you – When did you – I didn't hear – Why are you – _What are you doing here_?"

Professor Snape rolled his eyes, but soon they were once again on his pupil. "You missed my class, Mister Malfoy. It would be in your best interest to give me an excuse that does not include a certain Mister Potter. Are you ill?"

Draco, now that his nerves were calmed slightly, refused to answer straight away. Instead he stared at the door suspiciously. "Professor, with all due respect, how is it you got through my wards and locks?"

"You're merely a student, Mister Malfoy. You should know that as a teacher here, I'm very well practised in disarming charms of concealment."

'Why don't you talk _normally_?' Draco felt like asking, not for the first time, though he didn't. He knew Professor Snape had let him off easy during times that he deserved detentions – sometimes more – and that he hadn't ever lost points from his Head of House. To insult him would put him in bad graces, and the Slytherin didn't need to be looked down upon by another adult. Another Death Eater, no less.

"Right. Well, Sir, I _was_ feeling ill. I think it's the change in the weather. Getting cold out."

"You shouldn't lie, Mister Malfoy. It's useless against me, as I'm certain you are well aware."

And that he did. Sometimes he really hated the fact that even if he didn't get reprimanded for the things he did, Professor Snape still knew it all. Damn Legilimens. He'd have to learn Occlumency in his spare time this summer; it would be great to have that talent for when he was gone from the safe shelter of Hogwarts.

"Sorry, Professor." Draco pulled the blankets off of himself and stood up, walking until he was at a nice distance from his elder: close enough to see eye to eye – even if he had to look up slightly – and far enough to be out of reach, incase he decided to be randomly violent with him. It was better to be safe than sorry, what a nice turn of phrase that was. "But it doesn't have to do with Harry. Honest. Well, I mean, it does, but…" he trailed off, not even realising he had used Harry's first name in front of the other. It was probably a bad thing, but now his mind was concentrated on one thing: the letter. Where had he put it?

A small anxiety began to rise in him. The letter was gone. Where had he left it last? Pansy! Pansy had it! Oh Merlin, he hoped she took good care of it. The thought of someone seeing it, using it as blackmail against him, would haunt him until he got it back. And now… what if Snape didn't believe him?

He's a Legilimens, Draco reminded himself. Of course he'd believe him. Right.

"Searching for the letter?"

Draco immediately felt violated. He hadn't felt his mind being entered – dear Merlin, Snape was now undetectable in his mind! He felt like his thoughts had been mentally raped.

His fingers surrounded his head instantly, and he stared at his elder with semi-fearful eyes, trying to shield his mind physically, since he obviously couldn't do it mentally. Snape took a deep, annoyed breath.

"He told me, Draco. I haven't been in your mind." The word 'yet' hung in the air, but Draco made no comment on it. Instead, he tried to act as casual as he could, bringing his hands back to his sides.

"Told you what, exactly?"

"Draco, don't play around. I fundamentally proof read that letter for your father."

The blond's casual demeanour immediately slipped. He wanted to be outraged, wanted to scream at his professor, wanted to hex him senseless, but all he could let out was a strangled whimper.

"Please, Draco, pull yourself together. Although I greatly disapprove of you and Potter's… _friendship,_" he muttered the word as if it tasted bad on his tongue, "I do not wish to see you harmed. Which is why I will instruct you on what to do."

The Slytherin blinked. Instruct him on… Oh, he was being helped! His mind went into overdrive. He needed a parchment and a quill, _stat_. These instructions would be crucial! He needed to take notes! Notes, people! Where was that bloody notebook he never used? He'd use it now!

"Draco, _please_ calm yourself," Snape drawled, crossing his arms. He looked rather impatient, to Draco's misfortune. Deep breaths, in and out, and soon the blond was slightly calmer. Severus nodded his approval. "You will write back to your father. You will tell him you have a plan, and that it is currently in play. You will tell him that you cannot reveal too much, incase the letter is found or intercepted. Understood?"

It took a rather large amount of time for Draco to stop nodding his head. When he had, the older male continued speaking. "You will tell him that the results of this friendship will be exposed to him at the end of the year. You will tell him that you wish for the Dark Lord to be updated on your status with the boy," the blond was looking panicked by this point, "which means he shall know you are his friend. You will tell him that you will be spending the Christmas holidays here at Hogwarts, where you can keep a closer eye on him. Don't forget to mention that I am part of this plan, and that if anything goes wrong, I shall be here to correct it."

This didn't seem to be very helpful. While it would get him on his father's good side, he wasn't sure it would work one hundred percent. Why didn't he think it would work? Because it was the biggest load of dung in the history of forever. Unless… Snape actually _expected_ a plan…

"Er, Professor?" he asked, every part of his speech hesitant.

"What, Mister Malfoy?"

So it was back to 'Mister Malfoy' now. Professor Snape used his first name only when speaking of personal things with him, and the blond wasn't even sure he noticed it most of the time. He and Professor Snape were a lot closer than normal teachers and students. Snape knew his family well, Snape was a spy for the Dark Lord (though sometimes Draco wasn't too sure that was the side he was on), and, most importantly, even though Snape was a cold hard-ass, he listened to Draco go on and on about his insecurities about becoming a Death Eater. But that was a story for another time.

"I… uhm…" he looked at the floor, at his shoes, at the other's shoes, before finally spilling out what was troubling him. "I can't kill anyone!" His face immediately lifted to the elder's, his eyes almost desperate for another solution. Severus didn't seem at all amused by this; in fact, his eyes narrowed and he stared at Draco as if he was the stupidest boy alive.

"Who said you were going to kill anyone, Mister Malfoy?" The tone only confirmed that he thought Draco was the stupidest person alive. The pale boy immediately blushed and looked down. Damn teacher, putting pink on his face… Pink was such a terrible colour on him.

"I mean, I can't hurt him either." It all sounded weird and foreign on his lips. He couldn't stand talking about something like this to anyone, let alone his Potion's Master, but it had to be understood. No matter how embarrassing.

"I never said you'd have to hurt him, Mister Malfoy."

Okay, now not only was he being_ treated_ like a stupid child, but he felt the part too, muttering a small 'huh?'. Snape rubbed his temples tiredly and took a deep breath.

"Mister Malfoy, there is no plan."

"There's… no? But you…"

"Please, Mister Malfoy, use that thing between your skull that you have smartly called a brain."

His brows furrowed together. "No plan… but then I'll… uhm…" This was very hard for Draco to piece together.

"You'll be lying, Mister Malfoy! Lying!"

The man turned around briskly, his cape billowing (he had promised to teach Draco how to make it swish like that when he was old enough) and Draco was scared he was going to leave him. He didn't want to be alone with all this new information!

"Lying…"

Only pacing, that was it. Snape was pacing. Probably too frustrated with his student to stay still. "Yes, lying."

That would work. It would work wonderfully. But… did the Dark Lord really have to know? "Lying to Father would spare me punishment… but… does the Dark Master really need to be notified?"

"It would be less suspicious this way. He won't ask questions, and won't try to interfere if he knows someone is trying to rid the world of the brat."

"Right." Draco was starting to brighten up. This would work. He was good at lying - Slytherin! - and there was also the fact that he wouldn't actually have to see his parents to tell them. It was in a letter. That made it so much easier. It was brilliant! He would have kissed his professor had the thought not grossed him out entirely. (He respected Snape, of course, but some things were just better left un-thought of.)

Snape nodded once, as if that gesture confirmed everything, and then spoke once more. "We know what happened with Mister Potter."

We? Did that mean everyone else knew, too? Was Draco the last to be notified of his condition? He would have acted rather moody - and dramatic - about this, had he not been curious.

"He added too much of everything… at once. Wasn't that the first lesson I taught, back in your first year? 'If you forget to add something, add it slowly to try and salvage it, and never with another ingredient.' They clash. And so, Mister Potter had been doing what he normally does, I'm guessing: not paying attention. When he realized that he had forgotten, he dumped everything in at once. No, not everything. He added Worm Wart with the Appalachian Grumber seed, along with bee's wing and sand. _Sand_. Honestly, it doesn't take a Know It All to realise the error in that. The Worm Wart was supposed to be the first thing put into the cauldron, and he put it within the last fifteen minutes. And to put a bee's wing at the same time as _sand._ If he had just _paid attention_…"

If he had just paid attention? For one, Draco couldn't even remember that first lesson, and two, he didn't know why adding all that together would make such a clash. Apparently, though, it was pretty bad, so he just nodded and rolled his eyes, as if to say 'That's Potter for you'.

The older man seemed to be grumbling under his breath, but soon a little cough left him, and he snapped out of his ranting trance. "The potion to fix him takes two months to brew. In this time, Mister Potter will be getting older. Four years every ten days, to be exact."

If that wasn't the most absurd sentence ever, Draco didn't know what was. "So every ten days, he'll be growing?"

"Four years, yes."

"How… does that work, exactly?"

Severus' black eyes narrowed, but he spoke, his drawl sounding just as matter-of-fact as it did when he was teaching a new concept in Potions. "To him, it will be as if four entire years have passed in the presence of what he knows. So, he'll be very knowledgeable of Hogwarts, possibly of you as well, and all others who speak with him. It will be as if he'd known you for those four years, or eight, or twelve, when you've only known him for ten, twenty, thirty days."

"But… I had just yelled at him before he, er, changed. And then… he remembered it clearly. As if it really had been minutes ago. But you just said – "

"He is four years older, Mister Malfoy, mentally as well as physically. Make no mistake about that." And then the most remarkable thing happened: Professor Snape hesitated. His face still looked impassive, as it had before, but his eyes had a strange shine to it, the same shine they had had when Harry first changed into a five year old; it was the shine of confusion. "But I'm assuming that the four years that flow by are more distant memories, as if you were to remember exactly what happened on a certain day two years ago, where as things he has _actually_ experienced are more fresh in his mind."

"What about his other past? I mean, now he has two childhoods? How does that work? It'll be as if he's lived at Hogwarts his whole life?"

"Correct. So… he isn't really the Boy Who Lived. He's marked, but he hasn't passed through the trauma he had when he was growing. Those muggles haven't affected this Harry as deeply as the other Harry." Draco had been about to interrupt, but one look from Severus told him to hold his tongue. "He hasn't been through his encounters with the Dark Lord, nor will he, since they have already passed. So there is no Quirrel, no Chamber, no Sirius Black, no TriWizard Cup… Are you understanding this?"

No. "Yes."

"And when we restore him, he will remember his regular childhood, and the Hogwarts one, though I'm quite sure he'll only remember the actual memories, and not the fast-forwarded ones that he'll get after ten days."

This was definitely cracking against his skull. Too much complicated information. It would be simplified eventually though, right? _Right?_

"Wait, so, two months until he's back to regular Potter?"

"Sixty days, precisely."

"Right. So, that makes six transformations."

"Need I _really_ be here while you make the calculations, Mister Malfoy? I must be off and do better things than try to get you to comprehend."

"Er… fine then. Good bye, Sir."

"And I expect you to be in class tomorrow, Mister Malfoy," Snape called as he left the room, cape billowing as usual. "_With_ today's homework assignment completed."

Grey eyes watched, as his brain tried to absorb all the information. So… he'd be more than a little kid. Because, uh, six transformations, every ten days, meant, er… uh… by the time this was over, two months, potion, Harry would be… uhm… _uhm_…

"Later," Draco muttered to himself. "I'll figure out the numbers later. When my brain doesn't hurt so much…" Then a thought came to him. A very worrying thought. He ran out of his dorm and into the common room, only to find it empty.

"Professor!" he called out, wanting the other to still be in the room. "Professor!" his voice was louder, needing a reply. His thin body leaned against the wall as he stared into the empty hallway outside the portrait. "What happens when the year is over? What do I tell Father?" his words were whispers, and he hoped with all his might that the words would drift into the dungeons and into the ears of his professor. He sighed before walking slowly back up into his room.

He plopped himself down on the unmade bed, his brows seemingly glued into their current furrowed position.

All thoughts were interrupted when he noticed a little body in his doorway. He sat up and blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating. "Harry? That you?"

"Y-yeah," the little Potter said, taking a step in. He wasn't too much taller than he used to be, but he looked much healthier than the five year old had. More full. And his demeanour was much different too… he was standing straight, shoulders back, chest puffed out a little, as if tiny Harry Potter had a point to prove. Which, Draco would later find out, he did. "We... We need to talk."


	8. Apologies of Some Sort

**A/N:** Would have posted this yesterday, but, y'know... Deathly Hallows! I've been reading it - got it right after I submitted Ch.7 of this, so I could only work on the next chapter after I had read it. Anywho, here you are, more Draco - Harry interaction. I can't wait to write about when Harry's seventeen. It's gonna be a riot! It's a riot in my mind, anyway. Funneh...

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Even with the series over, J.K. Rowling still owns it all.

* * *

Talk? Harry wanted to talk? Boy, he sure did sound a lot older than nine years old. Draco said nothing for a long time; finally, he just looked out the door, above the other's head. "Harry, I'm not really in the mood right now. Can't we talk tomorrow?" 

Harry's tough-guy attitude wavered for a moment, and as Draco watched, the boy looked just as unsure as he had looked at five. But something invisible seemed to prod his self-esteem, and he took a step into the room, his chest puffed out importantly, his chin held high. Draco might have laughed at the comical sight, had his head not been pulsing with information.

"No. We need to talk." There was a pause where Harry looked at the door, then back at Draco. "_Now_."

The blond wasn't, at all, in the mood for this; being treated and spoken to like he was lower than everyone else by Snape might have been one thing, but this little boy ordering him around? He wouldn't stand for it. "Listen here, _Potter_! I'm not in the mood for you to try and control me at the moment! Go find someone else to boss around! I have a headache!"

Harry took a step back, his emerald eyes looking worried, as if Draco would begin yelling like he had that morning (had it really been that morning? It felt like ages had passed for Draco since then. Or, well, four years. Heh.) and bit his lip. But then something seemed to stir him on again, and Draco swore he heard a little noise outside the door. Before he could comment on anything, though, Harry had begun talking again.

"We need to talk, now," he repeated, though his voice wasn't as loud or as filled with authority as before. "Please?"

"How about you talk, and I pretend to listen," Draco countered, rather happy with the compromise, though not smiling. Just as he had said, he wasn't in the mood for this, or for smiling either. He lowered his eyes and sat on the bed, crossing his arms, waiting for Harry's reply. The aforementioned little boy looked back at the door, then at Draco, before taking another step in the room.

"You're mean."

Draco wanted to both growl and laugh at the same time. "Is that it? Is that why you're here? To tell me I'm mean?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. He fell backwards onto his bed and glared at the ceiling. He really didn't need this. Instead of feeling happy that there was a way that Harry could stay with him without being punished, he just wanted the brat to leave him alone at the moment. Just this moment. Would it really hurt him _that_ much to leave him alone for just a _few_ moments?

There was another pause – there seemed to be a lot, didn't there? – and then finally Harry's voice rang out again, just as strong as it had when he had barked to Draco that they needed to talk.

"No," Harry stated firmly. "I'm here to tell you that you're mean, and that I don't quite like it." Draco scoffed again, but the other continued on, "You wanted to be my friend, right? You, Pansy, and me, we spent lots of time together, right? And even if you weren't exactly nice with me, you weren't _mean_. But you are now."

Another pause, and Draco wondered if he was expected to talk. These beliefs were confirmed when Harry muttered a small: "Well?"

"_Well? _Well, I don't see your point in all this, that's the answer to your bloody 'well'."

Pause.

"I – I just think that, if you still want to be my friend," Draco couldn't see Harry, but he could tell he was waiting for him to contradict him. The older male held his tongue and waited for Harry to go on. This seemed to boost the small one's confidence, "That you shouldn't yell at me. Because… because I don't appreciate it! And… And if _you_ think that I'm going to stay around you while you… you yell at me all the time to go away, then you're wrong." Funny, that sounded strangely familiar – not the voice, but rather the choice of words and the way of talking. Like a certain Slytherin girl he knew… "So if we're gonna be friends, Mister Draco Lucien Malfoy, you need to not be so grumpy all the time."

And then, lo and behold, there was another pause. The Slytherin was the one to break it.

"I enjoy being grumpy."

He smirked to himself; he could actually feel Harry glare at him. He sat up on the bed and re-crossed his arms, looking expectantly at Harry.

It was a while before Harry spoke again – he was hesitating. Draco's grey eyes remained on his green, and he could feel the boy's determination begin to fade away. Now, the question was, did Draco want it to fade?

"I… I'd like it if you were nicer with me, so, can you please, er, not be so mean? Can you try to be nice with me? Please?"

"What?"

"I mean, I, uh, I just… It would just be easier to be your friend if I knew you weren't gonna freak out all the time. Like you did a while back. Pansy told me about the letter. Well, y'know, she said that people were mad that you were spending time with me, and I, uh, I just, it'd be easier to accept your apology if I knew you weren't gonna yell at me anymore. So… you can apologize whenever you want."

Pause. (Surprise, surprise.) But this time, the pause wasn't on Harry's part, but on Draco's. His face was contorted and twisted into shocked grimace – worse than the time he had caught his parents snogging in the hall before breakfast, which was saying something. (Needless to say, he hadn't felt at all like eating breakfast that morning.)

"Ex_cuse_ me? _Accept my apology_? You want me to _apologize_?" Harry had spoken in a voice way too 'matter of fact' for Draco's liking. Was he being serious? Harry deemed it okay to 'accept his apology' now? "Did I ever look sorry? Did I ever, in any way, shape, or form, tell you I regret what I did? _Huh_?"

And there it was: the eyes began to water. But not in a sad way, like usual. Harry seemed quite angry. Tears of frustration, probably. Well good. Harry had no right to expect such things from him. Draco was not about to be told what to do, not at a time where he needed independance to make up his own bloody mind about everything.

"You know what?" Harry yelled, and Draco was rather shocked to hear him speak so piercingly, "You're a… a jerk! I mean it! I don't know why I want to be your friend so bad! I don't need you! I have Pansy, and Hermione, and Ron! I don't need to be friends with a mean-head like you!"

"A mean-head?"

"Yeah! You heard me! You're a mean-head, and a… a jerk! And a lot more stuff that Hermione wouldn't like to hear me say! I wish… I wish… I _wish_…"

As funny as Harry's anger was, the blond was beginning to feel his own hot-temper rising. "What? Go on, say it! What do you wish?"

"I wish… I wish…" The ravenet's eyes were screwed shut in concentration, his fists balled at his sides. Draco wondered if he was going to explode any time soon. "I wish… I just _wish_…"

"Out with it!" Draco cried, now standing up in his anger, his arms on the verge of flailing around.

"I just wish you wanted to be my friend."

Draco felt his entire body deflate. He had expected something nasty, some cruel way of dying to slip out of Harry's mouth, some demand to move as far away from him as possible; the _last_ thing he expected was what Harry had said. He… he still wanted them to be friends?

Harry's eyes were still shut tight, but his balls of fists rubbed hard at them, making his glasses fall to the floor. When Harry made no move to pick it up, Draco slowly bent down to take them. He stood straight, and with a clearing of his throat, extended his hand to Harry, as if he was offering him a gift.

Harry eventually opened his eyes and saw Draco's unsmiling gesture. He took his glasses quickly and muttered a 'thanks' under his breath. With the circular frames now put back on, they both stood there for a few moments, just looking, watching, possibly waiting for something. Draco swore he heard something then, a little cough or footstep, but before he could even try to figure out what it was, Harry moved.

Arms circled his waist, and Draco had a shirt full of Harry Potter's face before he knew what had happened. "M'sorry," he could hear the sounds, muffled, against his stomach and chest. "You don't need to apologize." Draco stared at the other incredulously, unsure of what to do. Was he supposed to pat the other's head? His back? His hands just floated above the boy; he had never felt so unconfident about what to do with his arms before.

"I'm sorry. You can be mean. I don't mind. I'm sorry."

He wanted to say a million things in return, to comfort, to soothe, to get him off his clean robes, but it was all choked up in his mouth. All the comments wanted to leave at once, which resulted in a small splutter on his part.

"Don't stop being my friend. I'm sorry. You don't need to apologize."

Don't need to - ? This Harry was starting to weird him out. He had entered and spoken a lot more confidently than he ever remembered hearing the five year old, but here he was, crying, just as insecure as the other little Harry had seemed. What did that mean?

"Really, Draco, you can yell if you want! Honest! I won't mind! Just don't stop being my friend, 'kay? Just don't leave me alone – "

"Harry! That wasn't part of the plan!"

Draco's head shot up, and there was Pansy and Hermione at the door, staring at the little boy attached to him.

"Pansy, he was getting angrier with me! You said he wouldn't! You said he wouldn't get angry with me…" Back and forth, he could feel the movements on his stomach; Harry, shaking his head feverishly, tightened his hold on the Slytherin. Draco was beginning to feel the wetness seeping onto his skin, past both layers of robe and shirt. He could see Hermione's worried expression, Pansy's uncertain one, but not Harry's, though he could guess what kind of expression it was, seeing as the boy was crying. _Again,_ his mind couldn't help but add.

"Harry, Harry listen. I'm not angry." His words shocked not only himself, but the two girls as well. He paid little to no attention to them, though, only focused on the little Potter. His words seemed to be lost on him, because he continued shaking and mumbling nonsense apologies. "Harry!" he said a little louder. "Harry, I'm not angry with you. Honest."

The head shaking slowed, and eventually stopped. Familiar – was it possible that they were familiar after only eleven days? – watery greens looked up at him. "Honest?"

"Honest."

And Draco smiled. Openly and sincerely smiled. Harry sniffled and grinned, squeezing the body he was holding a bit tighter, and nuzzling his nose into Draco.

"Harry?" Draco croaked, feeling rather restrained.

"Hmm?"

"Harry, let go." Harry blinked and looked up, confused.

"But I thought you said you weren't – "

"Not angry. In pain." A big gulp of air was immediately taken in when Harry let go, and the boy smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry."

"What did I say about that?"

And the two males stared at each other, smiling, for some time, until Draco realised they weren't alone. He snapped his head to Pansy and glared. "Mind leaving for a bit?"

"I see no reason to go." She looked so self satisfied and smug, crossing her arms and smirking like that. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Pansy, leave, and give me a moment with Harry."

"But I thought you didn't like the twerp. Thought it wasn't worth it."

"I've worked it out," Draco grumbled, feeling heat rise in his cheeks as Granger kept watching him.

"Worked it out, huh?" she said, obviously wanting to make this even more humiliating than necessary.

"Yes," Draco hissed, "I've worked it out."

Pansy looked him up and down, before sighing dramatically and nodding. "I can see I'm not wanted here. C'mon, Granger. Let's leave these two their privacy."

…Granger? What, were they friends now? _That_ was weird. Much weirder than this whole Potter ordeal.

But really, Pansy just couldn't leave silently, could she? No, she couldn't. At the door, turned her head for a last time, and murmured, with a too-innocent smile, "Nice flowers, Drakey." Then she was off, giggling like the insanely infuriating woman she was.

How he wanted to shield Harry from the two flowers on the bed, but he couldn't. The boy had already seen it. It was too late. He didn't even have to see where Harry was looking – his grin was unnaturally large.

"Your face will crack, you know."

"You kept my – "

"No."

"You didn't throw them – "

"YesIdid."

"I gave that to Pansy – "

"Founditonthefloor."

"You – "

"No."

"Yes! You – "

"No, I don't."

"You do!"

"Do not!"

"Yes you do!"

"I do _not_."

"Don't lie!"

"Malfoys never lie!"

"Those are my flowers, and you – "

"Nothey'renot!"

"Yes they are."

"No, no they're not."

"Yes, and _you _– "

"Do not!"

"You're not letting me finish my sent – "

"Doesn't matter! Because whatever you're saying, I can assure you it's the _complete_ opposite!"

Harry had no right to look that smug. No right at _all_.

"Don't look at me like that, Harry. Whatever you're thinking is as _far_ away from the truth as it gets."

"Ri-ight."

"Don't start with me, Harry. I think I would know what I'm doing with flowers a lot better than you would."

"So… what _are_ you doing with flowers?"

There was an awkward silence, where Draco struggled with what to say. This affected Harry, making him look more satisfied than the blond had ever seen him, and finally Draco seemed to snap.

"Oh, you know what? Go away. Think you're smarter than a seventeen year old at nine? _Please_."

He began pushing Harry out of his room gently, unable to stop the smile when he heard the younger boy laugh and try to struggle.

"Maybe you picked 'em up by yourself?"

"Oh, sod off."

"Maybe you're gonna give them to your _girlfriend._"

"Not funny."

"Draco and his girlfriend, sitting in a tree. K – I – S – S – I – N – G!"

Although he hadn't ever been raised or been introduced to a single muggle in his childhood, Draco recognised the song, seeing as many of the younger muggle-borns or half-bloods sang in the halls some times.

"Think you're so clever, don't you?"

Harry nodded, and Draco shoved him playfully.

"Well you're not. So… leave me alone."

"So you can think of you _girlfri_ – "

SLAM. Draco closed the door in the other's face. He could still hear the giggles and laughter coming from the other side of the door. He sighed, wanting to be irritated, but the smile just wouldn't fade away. It wouldn't bleeding fade away!

"Damn Potter," he muttered to himself, walking to his bed to carefully examine the flowers.

Gently, he picked them up and set to place them securely in his trunk. As he did so, he could hear a chorus coming from the common room. A chorus that included Pansy and Harry singing that stupid song at the top of their lungs. And did he detect the Know It All singing, too?

But wait, was he forgetting something? He bit his lip, trying to remember. Ah well, if it was important, it would come back to him later.

With a chuckle and a sigh, he closed the trunk and left to join them.


	9. Exploding Snap

**A/N: **Right, well, yeah. Please keep in mind that I love Ron. His character is great, and I used to be his number one fangirl at one point in time. (Before I realised how awesome Draco is, of course.) The way I portray him in this fic does not reflect my personal opinion on him. And yes, this will have some light HD slash. Eventually, methinks. BTW, aren't I updating rather quickly? Dunno how long _that's _gonna last... The next one will probably be fast, though. Inspiration. Yay! I already have the opening. (snickers) Funneh... This chapter, though? Not so funny. Sorries.

**Disclaimer:** I'm annoyed of disclaimers. (sigh). I do not own. No money is being made. Yadda-yadda.

* * *

All in all, Draco decided this wasn't so bad. It was bad, but not _so_ bad. Sure it was weird, and he still wasn't used to any of it, but it wasn't so bad. He would even listen to Harry laugh at the stories Granger would tell him in the evenings, just because he hadn't heard a kid laugh like that since he was a kid himself. It was strange and unfamiliar, yet capturing. It was a much nicer sound than what he had been listening to before the transformation. 

Just two weeks ago, he, Pansy, and Blaise had sat in that very common room, the one Hermione and Harry were in now, and had spoken in hushed tones about what would become of their futures, what the rest of their lives would be like. Just two weeks ago he had been muttering words about his family, about the Dark Lord, about how sometimes, just sometimes, he wished the Dark Lord hadn't existed, just _sometimes_, so that the Malfoys could have been a regular family. And he remembered how his two friends, knowing how dangerous it was, agreed with him nonetheless, nodding their heads in agreement, in understanding.

The Dark Lord was a glorious being - there was no denying that. Draco wouldn't _dream_ of denying that. But he could remember multiple occasions, during past summers, where his vacation had been ruined because his father had been summoned away to do the Dark Master's bidding. He could remember nights where his mother's crying and his father's worried whispers had reached his ears from their bedroom across the hall, when he was thought to be sleeping. He could remember his mother's strange habit of coming back from a mission, a killing, and sliding herself under Draco's comforters, Death Eater robes and all, and just holding him close, petting his hair…

"Ron!" cried a giggling Harry Potter, tearing Draco from his memories. "Ron! Guess what?"

"What?"

Ron sounded happy, something the blond had yet to hear in his presence. The Weasel had been acting very strange since the transformation. Well, only where Draco was concerned. The redhead seemed fine and dandy when the Slytherin wasn't around.

Git.

"Hermione just taught me how to play this game, with cards, and do you know what the cards are s'pposed to do?"

"What? Tell me!"

"They ex_plode_."

He could hear the wonder in Harry's little voice.

"Oh, you'll love that game, Harry! We used to play Exploding Snap all the time!"

"Was I good?"

"You were brilliant."

"Wanna play now?"

"I'd love to, mate."

"Hold on, then. Lemme ask Draco if he wants to play."

The male smirked smugly from behind his desk and listened as the footsteps got closer. When there was knocking on the door, Draco muttered a 'come in', acting as if he hadn't just been eavesdropping on everything that had been said.

"Draco?"

"Yeah? What? I'm kind of busy right now, Harry. Homework and all." Homework? Ha. Like he was doing homework…

"Oh, well, um, Hermione was teaching me how to play Exploding Snap. I was wondering if you wanted to play with us?"

Draco drew a deep breath, as if it pained him to consider it. Count on a Slytherin to be theatrical. "Exploding Snap? That's a rather childish game, you know. I'm not sure – "

"_Please_?" Harry asked, blinking those big, green eyes of his. Draco felt like, had he really not wanted to play with him, this would have persuaded him. Who had taught Harry to make puppy dog eyes?

"Fine, fine. And don't whine. It's not very becoming of you."

Draco wasn't greeted very well once he had reached the bottom of the stairs. Sure, Granger was civil, but Weasley was a whole different story.

"Harry, does he really need to play with us?"

The little boy nodded without hesitation. "Hermione said it's best to play in twos. If we're four, we can have teams. If we were three, one of us would have been alone."

Ron grumbled something under his breath, and Draco distinctly heard the word 'ferret'. He narrowed his eyes at him.

"Fine," Ron finally said, eyeing Hermione as if she'd just mutinied against him. It wasn't as if she'd made up the rules or anything, so Draco really couldn't see why he was so moody. "Fine. We'll play in teams."

"Great! Me 'n Draco against you and Hermione." Harry grinned, sitting on the floor cross-legged, and Draco sat beside him, looking like a satisfied cat.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't look at all satisfied. More like explosive. His ears were bright red – quite unattractive, in Draco's opinion – before he sat down. Hermione sat beside him.

It had been quite an uneventful game, considering Draco had played it and watched it be played millions of times. Harry seemed quite entertained, though.

"Did you see that?" "Look, it's smoking!" "Oh God, look! Look!" "Ow, my ears hurt." "Wanna play again? Huh? Please?"

But, because it was just too plain, too ordinary, something was bound to happen. That's the way Draco's life was always played out. What was surprising though, was that Weasley had snapped without any provocation on the blond's part.

"Harry, why must you spend every waking moment with that stupid, ferret-faced prat?"

They were all shocked to hear him say something like that, so out of the blue. Draco, honest to Merlin, had not said a _word_ to him. Not one insult! Not even an _insinuation_ of an insult! So really, it was unfair. Which was why he immediately set on defending himself.

"What is your _problem?_"

"You! I tell you that every single chance I get, don't I? You're the problem, Malfoy!"

"Stop being a pratty git! I wasn't even doing anything!"

"This time! I don't see why Harry needs to cling to you like a leech!"

"Maybe because I'm worth clinging to! You, on the other hand – "

"Draco, don't use that tone with him."

The whole room seemed to freeze; Ron's eyes were wide. He was looking at Hermione as if she'd grown another head. A really grotesque head, Draco might add.

"What did you just call him?" His voice was barely a whisper. More of a hiss, really. Had Draco not been listening carefully, he might have thought it was Parseltongue.

Hermione was tentative a moment, then sighed and stared at him levelly. "Ron, it's what Harry always calls him. It's rubbing off on me, is all. Slipped out. I mean, I _do_ share the Head's station with him, and – "

"Blimey, he's gone and corrupt you as well! The whole lot of you! Brainwashed, you are! Thinking he's friendly… Well he's not! Don't you remember how much he hates us? Can't you just think back, just a minute? This is probably a plot! A plot to get Harry to You Know Who!"

"Ronald, I'm sure Draco has better things to do than plot against – "

"What are you _saying_?! Malfoy comes from a family of Death Eaters! He'd probably have a poster of You Know Who in his room if they manufactured them! Our entire history at Hogwarts revolves around him hating Harry! He's a stupid, good for nothing _git_, and we can't trust him! We can't just sit around, play games, and pretend he's good! He. Does. Not. Like. _Harry_!"

Funny how Draco just let them talk about him that way. As much as he was offended by Weasley's insults – well, to tell the truth, he wasn't _that_ insulted. Nothing he hadn't heard before – he just let it go on. Granger… was defending him. For Harry's sake, obviously. But really. _Defending_ him. Had he been in their position, personally, he wouldn't have allowed himself near a vulnerable Harry Potter, but to say such a thing at a time like this wasn't going to help his case.

"He does _so_ like me!" Harry cried, standing up and glaring at Ron. Ron's look softened instantly.

"Harry, listen to me. Malfoy… Malfoy isn't your friend. Not really. Even if he says he is, he can't – "

"Stop, Ron! I don't want to hear it!"

"Why?" Ron cried, his eyes back to their hard glare. "Why won't you believe me? Why would you trust him more than me? Why are you so attached to him? Huh? _Why?_"

"Because… because he was my first friend."

The look on Ron's face was indescribable, but if Draco had to make the right analogy, he'd guess that Ron died on the inside.

"What?" Weasley's voice was barely heard, his face frozen without expression. Yeah, definitely dead on the inside. "What did you – "

"He was! And I'd appreciate if you stopped talking about him that way." The ravenet didn't seem as angry now that Ron looked that way, but he was still staring hard at him, as if his piercing stare would get his point across. "He was… my first friend. I never had friends at the Dursley's. Dudley always beat up people who spoke to me on the street, so the kids learned to stay away. But Draco… When everyone stared at me, when everyone thought I was a freak…"

"Harry, I _never_ thought you were a freak."

"Yes you did! Everyone did! I just sat there on the floor, and everyone stared at me like I was a freak, like Dudley would stare at me, his eyes wide and scared, but Draco picked me up. Draco brought me away from everyone who thought I was weird – "

"No, Harry – "

"Draco was my first friend. And Ron, I love you, really, 'cause you're a great friend, too, but Draco – "

"That's not fair!" Ron roared, standing up. Hermione squeaked in surprise at the intensity of his voice. "_I_ was your first friend, Harry! Me! We met on the train and Malfoy… Malfoy insulted me! That first day of school! And you stood up for me, didn't want to be his friend because of it! _I_ was your first friend, not _him_!"

Harry, although he looked frightened at the look in Ron's eye, stood there without taking a step back. That must have been the Gryffindor in him.

"Ron, I'm sorry, but Draco was my first friend."

"I was your first friend _first_. Don't you get it, Harry? He stole you away from me! It's not supposed to be like this! This is all wrong! You shouldn't want to play Exploding Snap with him, shouldn't want to be on his team, shouldn't want to spend time with him! It's not right! It's weird!"

Harry looked like he had been punched in the stomach; the wind looked knocked out of him. There was a long silence, one where Harry was literally gasping for breath, and Draco was about to stand up and examine him when words finally left Potter's lips.

"Y-you said… you said I wasn't weird here."

Deeply regretful of his words – or, at least, that's how he looked, though Draco wasn't believing him one hundred percent – Ron took a step towards Harry.

"No, mate. I didn't mean it like that. I didn't – "

"You promised! You and Hermione! You said I wasn't weird here! You _promised_ me I wasn't weird!"

"No, Harry, you're not! You're not! I didn't mean it like you're thinking. It's just, your friendship with him – "

"I can be friends with whoever I want to be friends with! That's what you said! You did say it, didn't you? _Didn't you_?"

To say that Harry looked downright mad would be an understatement. He looked like he was seeing red. Ron tore his eyes away from his friend and glared at the floor.

"Thought you wanted to be my friend, Harry. I'm your best friend, you know."

The little one's chest seemed to be heaving. Draco hadn't felt guilty too many times in his life, but every time he did, he was sure he'd been able to breathe. Harry looked like he was on the verge of collapsing. Maybe it was a different kind of guilt. Merlin knew Draco wasn't well experienced in that emotion…

"At least, I thought I was your best friend. I thought seven years meant something."

"Ronald! You can't hold him responsible for forgetting! It isn't his fault!"

" 'Mione, let's face it. It's obviously not the same Harry. He's different now. He's not the same. He's not the Harry we knew and loved."

Okay, the Slytherin was definitely starting to worry. Harry looked like he was hyperventilating.

"Ron! I can't believe you'd say that!" Hermione turned towards Harry, looking every part a mother. "Harry, he doesn't mean it. Ron's being a jerk. We love you, no matter who you're friends with. Malfoy isn't that bad a person. Just ignore him. Here, it's your turn. Flip a card over and toss it, see if it explodes. Just - "

"I'm sorry."

"No, Harry, you've nothing to be sorry about," Hermione assured, but she might as well have been talking to a wall.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't mean to be different. I just… I just like him is all…"

"Harry, stop apologizing."

"I was your best friend, Harry. And now you like him better?"

"Ron!"

"I'm sorry."

"No, Harry, stop that. Ron's being – "

"All the bad stuff, Harry, it was me and Hermione that helped you out. We were there for you. Not him. He'd hex you. Call you terrible names…"

"_Ron!_ Please! Just stop – "

"Didn't like you, Harry. Worked for an evil wizard... He still does. The only reason he's spending time with you is so that he could hand you over to that bad man."

"That's not true!" Draco started, piping up, wanting to get his angry voice in. But Harry wasn't listening to him, was only listening to Ron.

"Remember the evil wizard I told you about, Harry? The one who kills innocent people, men, women, children alike? The one who wants you dead?"

"You told him about that? Ron, how could you – "

"He'll give you to him, Harry! How can you trust him? He wants you dead!" Hermione gasped.

"Ron! Stop! Please, don't - "

"Dead, Harry. He's not your friend! He works for that evil man, that bad man! How can you – "

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _

Draco stood, glaring, his wand pointed at the now frozen Ronald Weasley. Profanities were streaming through his mind, each wanting to be let out; he wanted to yell at that stupid prick, but he remained silent, his wand still pointed, as if afraid Ron would undo the spell and lunge at him.

"You… you killed him."

And finally his trance was broken. The blond, now able to move, to realise what was going on, turned his head to a wide-eyed Harry.

"You killed him," he repeated, louder this time, his voice an accusation.

"I did not! Did you think I was going to let him talk about me that way? Ugh, you insufferable little _Weasel_." The last sentence had been directed at said Weasel. He brought his face inches to the other's. "I should spit on you, I should. How _dare_ you speak that way about me! You have no right to utter such words about a Malfoy! You… you…"

"I don't… understand…"

Hermione seemed to blink out of her own daze, and looked at Harry. "He's frozen, Harry. Not dead."

"Well, unfreeze him, then!"

"Why the _hell_ would I unfreeze him? So he can talk like that again? He's bloody mental!" Draco said, looking at Hermione for support, simply because she seemed the only one who could provide it. But she was biting her lip, staring at the frozen male in the room.

"Draco…"

"I won't unfreeze him! Ask her to do it!"

"Will you answer me something?"

"I… what?"

His head facing the floor, Draco was unable to read Harry's expression. "Do you really work for that evil wizard? The one that wants to kill me?"

Draco lowered his wand and tilted his head as he watched Harry. Was this his judgement time, then? Was this the moment that Harry would see just who he really was? Well Draco would have none of that. "No. I don't work for him." Not yet, anyway, though he didn't say that to Harry.

Harry lifted his emerald sparkles and gazed at Draco, and for a moment the blond thought that maybe he had seen through the lie. But eventually he nodded; Hermione let out a breath and unfroze the redhead.

Ron immediately glared at her, then everyone else in the room. "Took you long enough," he muttered darkly, and with a rough shove to Draco's shoulder, made his way out of the Head's quarters.

Everything was awkward for an eternity. Draco eventually took a seat on his favourite armchair, and Hermione began flicking some of the cards, making them explode at random. Draco welcomed the sound, the silence suffocating him.

"I knew I could trust you, Draco," Harry said, a small smile on his lips, before he sat down. He began to ask Hermione questions about the courses offered at Hogwarts, and Draco wasn't able to listen.

_Do you really work for that evil wizard?_ He would. Eventually. When his training was done. What would Harry think of him then? Did it matter? Of course it did. He sighed. It didn't matter _at the moment_. In two days time, Harry would be thirteen, and they'd be a month and a half away from everything going back to normal, back to the way it was supposed to be.


	10. Unwanted Memory, Unwanted Future

**A/N:** You must be patient! There is an Angry!Lucius, obviously. Those were Draco's I-Wish-You-Know-Who-Didn't-Exist memories. Couldn't fit Lucius' reaction to forgetting about the letter into Ch 9, so now it's here. Must give it time! And thanks, xXbefuddledXx for telling me about the spell. I knew that, I swear I did! xD Edited it. And if you guys see any other errors, please tell me. I usually get it right, but y'know, sometimes I don't. And I know I said the opening would be funny, but, well, er, I decided to start it different. I'm very inconsistent. So… not funny. I keep trying to make my chapters fluffy and sweet, honest! (grumbles) Ah well.

**Disclaimer:** Each time I write this part, I die a little inside. No, I still don't own any HP characters. Happy?

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_The crowd surrounded him, each face hidden behind a mask, each body covered with long, black robes, and Draco had never been more terrified in his life. __"Draco Lucien Malfoy." __He couldn't tell where the voice came from; it boomed from everywhere, making his insides squirm and his outsides shake. "The time has come for you to choose." He stared around, desperate to catch sight of one of his parents, but he couldn't tell which they were, or if they were there at all. Was that his mother in front of him? Was that his father in the crowd? There was no way of knowing. "Draco." How he wished his name wouldn't be mentioned. How he wished he could be away from here, anywhere. Where _was_ here? He couldn't tell. It didn't matter. The crowd seemed to close in on him, silent, all listening to that cold voice. "It is time for you to make your allegiance. Whose side are you on?" He had practised the words, practised his response, countless times, but now nothing came out of his mouth. He was frozen with terror, unable to move his lips or body; the only motion he was capable of was the trembling. "Do you accept this mark to be put upon you?" His lips, his tongue, his throat… all was dry. He couldn't speak even if he had been able to. "Draco? Whose side are you on?" There wasn't much time left to answer. He could feel his freedom slipping away from him with the seconds that passed. "Draco?" His heart thumped madly in his chest, his head swerving frantically, desperate to catch a glimpse of his mother's golden hair, or his father's crystal eyes. "Draco, you leave us no choice." And all simultaneously, like the zombies they were, the Death Eaters lifted their wands and pointed it at him. "Draco." No, no, he was shaking his head, his lips moving now, at lightening speed, but sound was forbidden. It was too late. "Crucio."_

Draco gasped and sat up, his body drenched in a cold sweat. That blasted dream again. Ever since Harry had asked that question, this vision haunted him. It hadn't ever happen, it was no memory, but that didn't make it any less scary. He wiped his face and was able to feel how clammy his skin was. His breathing returned to normal and he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Damn it. Damn it all to sodding hell.

Something made him gasp again, he heard a breath being released, and for a fleeting moment he thought the Death Eaters from his dream had found out about Harry and were now in his room, trying to recruit and torture him earlier than planned.

"D-Draco? You… you okay?"

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed, a pale and still shaking hand making way towards his heart, trying, physically, to stop it from beating so wildly. "Wha- What are you doing in here? It's early." Or late. Draco couldn't tell.

"I- I know. I just, I wanted to ask you something, but I, uhm, are you alright?"

"Just a bad dream. Nothing I won't forget about later."

He squinted his eyes and was able to see a silhouette in the dark, nodding his head. Draco stared for a long time, his mind still on the dream, when Harry spoke again.

"I-I guess I'll go then."

But Draco was desperate not to be alone, afraid that sleep would take him away and make him relive that horrible imaginary scene again. "Wait," he almost cried out, but quickly tried to recover. He wished his voice would be smooth and cool, as it usually was. "What… what did you want to ask me?"

He saw the silhouette flick a wand, and then shock greeted the Slytherin. There stood Harry, taller than he had been the night before, his legs longer than they'd ever been as a child – and the same could be said about his hair. The lanterns were on, but… when had Harry learned magic? The newly dubbed teenager was blushing and fumbling with his sleeve, and Draco repeated the question. "What did you want to ask me?"

Harry bit his lip, his face turning from pink to red gradually. "I, uhm, nevermind. You… you just had a nightmare. Doesn't matter."

"Harry, you've already woken me. Just tell me."

"I would've asked Hermione, but, she's practically my mum, you know. And… And she might have looked at me weird, you know? Might have scolded me, might have been disappointed. I just… Uhm, I didn't mean to. I know I deserve to be scolded, but it's a one time thing! I mean, I didn't _want_ to! S'not like I planned it or anything! I just woke up, and … and I swear I didn't feel it during the night!" Harry was arguing desperately, but with the floor. He still hadn't made eye contact with Draco.

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't mean to, okay? I just… I woke up and… I mean, I can't ever remember doing it before! I just… Uh…"

"_What_?" Draco asked, on the verge of panicking now. What could be so bad that Harry would be so red and unable to look at him? Perhaps it was the dream, but the Slytherin's mind was already reeling with terrible things that Harry might have done accidentally in his sleep.

"I… I wet the bed," Harry whispered, his eyes still nowhere near Draco.

And now Draco realised just how Harry was dressed; it couldn't be past four thirty in the morning, and he was already fully robed, not in his pyjamas. His clothes were bigger, and he figured Harry had gotten them during that 'four years of growing' thing. Thirteen years old and wetting the bed. The blond wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that. Harry waited in silence a bit longer, and then spoke again.

"I really didn't mean to. I woke up and I was all sticky. Could you… could you clean it for me? Just wave your wand? Please? Before… before Hermione sees? I promise it won't happen ever again! I swear it! I'd clean it manually, but I don't want to use the rags from the bathroom – "

"Wait," Draco said, hoping he hadn't heard right. "Sticky?"

"Yeah. It was really uncomfortable. It was all over my sheets and clothes and I'm really sorry!"

Oh Merlin. No. He wasn't this boy's parent! He really shouldn't have to go through with this.

"Was it… a lot?"

"I… don't know. I didn't really look. I bathed and got dressed, but it's still on my bed I think, and I think it'd just be better if you cleaned it with your wand."

"And… it was sticky?"

Harry nodded, peeking through his lashes to look at Draco. Draco could feel his own face heating with what he was about to say. Damnit! He wished the Weasel hadn't still been angry. Then maybe he would have been able to tell Harry this…

"Did you have a… strange dream? Before you woke up?"

Harry's eyes widened and his already red face changed into an impossible shade of rouge. "I… I didn't mean to! I can't… I mean, I wouldn't normally think stuff like that! Honest! I don't… I mean, I couldn't… It was just… just a dream!" He was struggling with what to say, and Draco sighed, knowing full well what he meant, even with all the stuttering and mumbles.

"Harry, shut up. Listen to me. It's perfectly normal for you to have… dreams like that at your age. Hell, I started getting them at ten. And you didn't wet the bed. I mean, not with urine…"

Harry looked confused, but no less embarrassed. "I don't… uhm… get what you mean, exactly."

"Well, you, er, uhm, didn't _pee_ in your bed."

"Then, uhh…"

Oh no. Explaining this was bad enough, but the fact that Harry was so… _confused_ made it so much harder to cope with. Hadn't anyone ever given him The Talk? This would have been much easier for Draco if Harry knew _something_ about, well, sexual things.

"Okay, we'll start from the beginning." The faster this was over, the faster he could forget any of it had ever taken place. Draco began fiddling with the underside of the sheets, feeling very uncomfortable with this, but decided the more teacher-like he acted, the less prone Harry would be to question him. The dream was already begin to slip away from his mind…

"Do you know where babies come from, Harry?"

Harry's head lifted slowly, obviously puzzled by the change of subject. Draco regarded him for a few moments, during which time Harry's blush seemed to fade, just a little, as his mind struggled with an answer. Oh come _on_. Surely someone had clued him in on _that_.

"Well? Do you?"

Maybe his tone could have been a bit gentler, but this was hard enough as it was! Harry looked offended, crossed his arms and scowled. That scowl was proof that he had spent time with Slytherins. Gryffindors just didn't scowl that way. " 'Course I know where babies come from! I'm not stupid, Draco!"

"Where do they come from, then?" Draco asked.

"Uhm…" Harry had to stop chewing on his lip; it would become chapped! Didn't he know that? Actually, Draco was going to have to think twice about everything Harry knew. He couldn't know that much if, at thirteen, he didn't know where babies came from… "I _do_ know, Draco. I mean, who _doesn't_ know," the younger teen scoffed, before looking at Draco with an unsure smile. "Could you… could you refresh my memory, though?"

"This is going to take a while," Draco mumbled to himself, before patting the bed beside him. "C'mon, Harry. Sit here. Get comfortable. I have much to tell you."

"Draco? I still don't see how babies have anything to do with me wetting the bed."

"Well, I'm teaching you a lot at once, okay? So, just, don't question me!"

"Why?"

"Because I want to get through this as quickly as possible."

"Why?"

"Because it's embarrassing."

"Why?"

"Because talking about babies and your stupid dreams isn't really something I like doing!"

"Why?"

"Because it's disturbing, that's why!"

"Why?"

"I just told you why!"

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No. You didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No, you – "

"You came out of a vagina!"

There. Served him right for trying to be a funny little prat. Childish on his part? Maybe. But Harry started it.

Harry looked momentarily stunned before it sank in; he shrank away, grimacing. "Ugh, what?" He began making gagging noises, his nose wrinkled. Draco smiled at the look of pure disgust on the younger male's face. "That's… ugh. Is that _sanitary?_ I can't fit in a… in a … _girl part_! You liar! Ew. Don't even _joke _about that, Draco!"

"I'm not joking," he said in the most haughty tone he could muster. "You _do _come from there."

"But that's _nasty_!" Harry cried, a few octaves higher than Draco was used to hearing him. Wow. He hadn't realised until now that Harry's voice had changed from yesterday.

"Yep. But true."

"And all babies come from there?"

"Yep."

"Ew." The teenager began gagging again, and Draco sighed.

"Can I continue?"

"Didn't even know you had started."

Yes, Harry had definitely spent time with Slytherins. Besides his looks, he wasn't at all how he remembered Harry in his third year; maybe that was just because he hadn't really known him then. Or ever. Save for glaring and an exchange of insults, all Draco knew about Harry Potter was what everyone else knew. That was enough, wasn't it? Knowing someone's entire history? Didn't that count as knowing someone?

"Anyway," he murmured, brushing off his thoughts, "Here's how it works."

So, a half hour of complete silence on Harry's part, of Draco's words, of Harry's faces, of Draco's rather crude hand-gestures, had one result: a very disturbed and frightened Boy Who Lived.

Looking rather pale, Harry opened his mouth and closed it over and over again, looking like a gaping fish. Draco nodded in satisfaction, glad his job was done. He got up from his bed and marched towards the bathroom.

"Draco… what does that have to do with the fact that I've wet the bed?"

Leave it to Potter to try and ruin his satisfaction. He turned around, about to point out that this had been a tiring experience, and that maybe he should just go ask someone else – he was going to use the word 'ungrateful' in there somewhere, but he wasn't sure where – when a flustered looking Pansy Parkinson crashed through his door.

"Draco! Draco! I came over, Harry's growing, wanted to see, and the owl followed me!" She took a deep breath, closing her wide eyes momentarily. "Draco, you better hurry down. It's a Howler."

It didn't take half a second for Draco to hop down the stairs, his hands flying for the red scroll. He needed to open it, and quick; it was already smoking at the corners. If it exploded without his opening, the whole school, not to mention Hogsmeade, was bound to hear it. So, his fingers strangely deft at a time of panic, ripped open the waxed Malfoy crest. No sooner did a loud voice he recognised fill the room at a decibel his ears could only barely handle.

"Draco," the voice boomed, and he covered his ears, though that didn't stop him from hearing everything. "What is the meaning of your silence? Your mother and I will not stand for such insolence! We raised you better than that, did we not? Greatly disappointed in you, the both of us. How dare you not want to share your information with us? Be prepared to come home in two weeks time for the holidays. Then you'll see just how important this mission is to us. We will not fail again! Not _again!_ If we have found out that you have shamed the Malfoy name we won't be the worst of your troubles, young man. We don't need a reply to this – we don't need any further explanation. Your refusal to write back tells us everything."

The red parchment became silent and floated onto the table, looking innocent, though Draco was sure the ringing in his ears would never fade.

"What… was that? That paper sounds angry with you, Draco."

What a nice way to put it, Draco thought bitterly.

"Is it because you wasted so many of his brothers and sisters? Is he mad at everyone? I knew even the paper here was magical! Didn't I, Hermione? I told you, I remember. I said 'we shouldn't waste so many papers for nothing'. Nothing in this world is inanimate, I knew it! Well, Draco, I'm sure if you plant a few trees, it'll be happy. Dunno why he was mad that you were quiet with it though. Are we supposed to talk to paper? Do you have a history with that particular sheet of parchment?"

"Harry, hush." Oh great, the Mudblood was there. He wasn't entirely surprised, seeing as the Howler had been quite loud, but he really wished she hadn't heard. He wished it had never happened. He wished he had remembered to write back! "Mal – Draco? Will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"Do you want some tea?"

"Harry has something in his bed he'd like to show you."

Harry's eyes widened and he looked first at Hermione, then at Draco, a glare and betrayal in his eyes.

"That was mean."

"Hey, now she can explain to you the rest of the story."

Harry looked more disgusted than he had during the whole morning, but Draco didn't care. Now that he had gotten those two out of his hair, he wondered what he was going to do. Not go back to Malfoy Manor, that much was certain.

Snape. He needed to talk with Snape. Snape, who had helped him plan everything. Draco had ruined that… Why? Stupid Harry Potter! Ugh, not again, not again. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't; it wasn't anyone's fault. Except Potter's. No, no it wasn't his fault either. Wasn't Pansy's fault, wasn't Harry's fault, wasn't Weasley's fault, wasn't Snape's fault, wasn't his own fault…

He began shaking his head, gripping his hair tightly, painfully. He couldn't go back now. He'd stay here, stay at Hogwarts, forever if he had to. Yes, that was it. It was his last year, wasn't it? He'd beg to become a teacher – Defence Against the Dark Arts, at first. They were always in need of a new DADA teacher – and spend the summer here, sorting out his teaching plan for every year he would teach. A small, rather insane, laughter began bubbling inside him. That wouldn't work! Draco didn't know the first thing about teaching.

He felt trapped, like a caged animal, in his own life. Things were going terribly wrong. He wished someone would obliviate him, make everything go away.

"Draco, love? Are you alright?" Draco turned to Pansy, having forgotten she was there, and smiled at her.

"Yes."

His fingers let go of his blond locks and his arms fell limply at his side.

"You can spend the holidays with us, if you'd like. Mother wouldn't mind."

"It's fine."

"Draco…"

"It's fine. Promise." And his smile got larger, but Pansy was less convinced.

"You look like you're holding a lot in, Draco. You shouldn't – "

"I'm not holding anything in. Father wants me to go back." The truth of it began spilling into his brain and out of his mouth. "I have to go," he murmured, but he didn't feel like he was talking. He felt like someone else was speaking for him, using his lips as a mean to get his point across. "I can't hide from him forever. If I don't go home for the holidays, he'll get me during the summer, and whatever the punishment, it'll be ten times worse."

"But if you came to _our_ house – "

"Don't you see, Pansy?" he asked, his eyes unnaturally watery as another spurt of laughter bubbled out of him. "I'm fucked."

"You're not – "

"So… so I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm going to go home for the holidays. I'm going to reason with them, feed them a fake plan – "

"That's a terribly stupid id– "

"And then I'll come back, see? And I'll figure something out to do before school's over. Maybe I could move in with Snape. He likes me, doesn't he?"

"And the Easter holidays?" she asked, looking rather angry. Draco didn't notice. He just continued on.

"Maybe I could just beg the Dark Lord for forgiveness. Maybe he'll understand. Maybe if I devote the rest of my life to serving him, he won't make me hurt anyone."

"Serving him means hurting people."

Draco blinked once, twice, and his eyes came back to focus, focusing on Pansy.

"What're you going to do?"

"What? I just _told you_ – "

"What are you going to do _now?_"

The innocent looking sheet of red paper burst into flame.

"You're just going to… ignore this?" Pansy asked, incredulously. "You can't just forget about it!"

"I will. At least until Christmas comes around."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard!"

"Forget it. It's the only way I'll be normal."

"You can't act like nothing's wrong, Draco!"

"I said _forget it_!"

Her eyes bore into him, and Draco looked down, feeling a bit ashamed. But it was all he could do, wasn't it? There wasn't anything else he _could_ do. He'd forget everything, pretend everything was normal.

Harry and Hermione came down the steps, a dark cloud practically visible over the young male's head.

"And then, once all three of the substances are together, it produces what you have there in your bed. Is flows through the Vas Deferens, and out of the swollen member. Do you remember why it's swollen and erect, Harry?"

" 'Cause of the blood that gets absorbed by the cells."

"Correct! Five points to Gryffindor for paying attention."

Harry blushed at Pansy's surprised stare, and then turned to glare at Draco.

"I hope you're happy," he muttered.

The blond looked at his fellow Slytherin, who looked back at him with disappointment in her eyes. He sighed, but then took his own advice, and tried to forget about everything.

"I am," he said, forcing a smirk. "That's what you get for waking me so early in the morning."

The dream and the Howler thrust out of his mind, Draco walked back up the stairs and got ready for the day.


	11. The Pervert Who Lived

**A/N: **This is rated 'T', but there will be mentions of abuse in later chapters. Er… so how does that work? Do I have to change it to 'M'? What if it's not graphic? Could anyone tell me if that would still work, please? I feel inexperienced. (sigh) BTW, this chapter is my favourite so far, if only because of Harry. This is definitely the funnest chapter EVAR! In my opinion, anyway. Enjoy and review! And… I've been given drugged muffins. I don't think it worked, though. Huzzah for procrastination! xD Oh, another note: it's actually supposed to be Sunday, if anyone's making the calculations (I have it all written down) but we're going to pretend it's not. Okay? Okay. xD

**Disclaimer:** I own not the characters, not the setting, nor anything else in the HP world. Only the idea, but even that isn't too original, because it's been done many, many times. Ah well.

* * *

Something Draco was grateful for was the way he awoke every morning. Harry, it seemed, was a _very_ early bird. At practically dawn, Draco would feel someone climb on his bed. Of course, the first time this had happened, he had completely freaked out. The sheets and blankets had done a good job of trapping him, though. And Harry, after his first day as a thirteen year old, had said something about a nightmare. Any insult Draco was about to say froze at his lips: he could relate to nightmares. 

And he didn't really mind the body pressed against him, either. He still made a fuss about it every morning, because that was expected of him, but Harry didn't seem to mind, only occasionally getting angry.

Occasionally angry… if only Pansy could have been like that. He hadn't spoken to her since the Howler, though she still spoke to Harry regularly. But who needed Pansy, anyway? Certainly not Draco. He would be perfectly fine without her annoying presence. And if she didn't want to sit beside him in classes anymore? Fine by him! He didn't need her around, anyway. Meddlesome witch, that was all she was. He tried to forget her shame in him like he tried to forget everything else. It was hard, but he pretended he was able to do it. At least, Harry didn't seem to notice any nervousness or forced happiness. That was a good sign.

Harry. The boy who was resting against him now. The male who Draco had hated for all his life. The bloke who had rejected his hand of friendship when he had offered it to him and no one else. The guy who used to insult him on a regular basis, just like Draco used to do to him. The Boy Who Lived.

Why was Draco risking everything for him?

"Mm, Draco…"

The blond groaned, digging his face into his pillow. "Shut up, Harry. I told you you could stay here only if you were quiet," he mumbled sleepily.

"But Draco…"

Why was he whining? "Harry, shut _up_. I'm trying to relax."

He felt a nose, and what could possibly be Harry's glasses, press against his neck. Was Harry nuzzling him? When had they gotten so close? "My personal bubble space is being invaded."

"Mm, is it?"

"It is."

"Do you mind?"

"Of course I do," Draco said, frustrated, with a mouthful of comfortable pillow in his mouth.

"But I like invading your personal bubble."

"Ugh, well do it in a quiet fashion, and in a fashion that _won't _disturb me. I'm tired."

"Fine, then."

Too sleepy to register anything, Draco merely nodded, eyes still stubbornly shut. But then, something quite peculiar caused his eyes to shoot open.

"Harry! Get your hand _out_ of my pants!"

He was shocked, obviously. Stunned. Confused. Angry. And confused. And shocked. Why the _hell_ were Harry's hands there? And _why weren't they leaving?_

The male cuddled against him was laughing, a laugh he had yet to hear. So carefree, so loud, so charming… But the rubbing against his groin made him realise that Harry's laugh wasn't something he wanted to listen to at the moment.

The hand was flung away and Draco fell off the bed in his struggle not to get raped, but Harry kept laughing from the bed.

"Oh, come _on_, Draco! M'trying to do you a favour!"

"I doubt being violated would do _anyone_ any favours!" he cried from the floor, a lot louder than he had intended, pulling the blankets from the bed onto him. It didn't matter if he was wearing his pyjamas – he felt exposed. His grey eyes were still wide with shock, and… fear? But definitely not arousal. Nuh-uh, definitely not.

"You're too stuck up for your own good, Draco."

The laughing eventually died down, and when the last of the breathless gasps were heard, the Slytherin stood up, rather shakily.

"Would you care, dear Harry, to _explain that?"_

He wanted to sound frightening, wanted to intimidate the other, but his voice was in 'Indignant Squeak' mode. For once, it wasn't dark when he had been rudely awakened. The morning sunlight poured through his green curtains onto Harry's form laying on the bed.

Seventeen. This was the seventeen-year-old Harry.

Exactly like the Harry he had grown accustomed to – in looks, anyway. The grin was something he had never seen on him, even towards the others in his Gryffindor trio. His scar seemed almost hidden on his head, not as important to this Harry as it had been to the other. His hair inky black and a careless mess on his head, his arms sprawled around him, his deep emerald eyes full of amusement, his bare chest so nice and –

Ahem.

"Come _on_," Harry repeated, a chuckle escaping him. "Like you've never thought about touching a boy before."

Oh, this Harry wasn't at all like he knew the other Harry to be. "I have not!"

Harry sat up and raised a brow, smirking.

"Are you sure?"

Draco looked at him, still in horrific amazement. "Of course I'm sure, you poncy prat!"

"Ah well, guess that means you won't be touching me."

"Damn straight!"

"Well… I could still touch you, can't I?"

"_What?_"

"Shh! Not so loud! Don't yell bloody murder, you git! You'll wake Hermione up!"

"I will _not _be touched by your hands!"

Harry crawled to the edge of the bed, still smirking.

"Who said I was going to touch you with my hands?"

He licked his lips, and Draco was just about to have a heart attack. Harry seemed to notice this, and began laughing again.

"I'm only _kidding_ Draco! Please! I wouldn't be so forward if I _meant_ it, would I?"

Kidding. A joke. Ha. Funny. And as much as Draco wanted to laugh, he couldn't. Harry got off the bed and stood much too close to the other. The blond's heart was already beating much faster than was clinically healthy; this wasn't helping at all.

"Plus, it's not like I'm _gay_ or anything, so it wouldn't matter."

"Oh. You're not _gay_, is that right?" Draco asked, trying to bring his voice back down to that masculine drawl everyone was so used to. If anyone heard him now, they'd surely think he'd inhaled helium.

"No, I'm not," Harry said, his face determined. "If I was gay, I'd be certain that men turned me on. For now, I just want to _see_ if…" His hand hovered over Draco's crotch again, and he rubbed it, smiling confidently yet biting his lip, and a little moan escaped the blond. Which was when he pushed Harry away.

"Not gay?" he repeated, bending down to pick up the fallen blanket and wrapping it quickly around his waist. (For extra protection.)

"No! I'm not _gay_. I think you are, though. My manly hands made you moan."

"Because I just woke up!"

"So?"

"_So?_ That means I haven't _relieved_ myself."

"Don't blame this on Morning Wood! You enjoy my talented hands."

"Ha! You're funny, Harry. Really. You should quit school now and become a comedian."

Harry rolled his eyes, tugging at the blanket playfully. "I know I'm funny. One of my many talents. But Draco, I need you to cooperate! Don't you just want to see what it feels like? Just once?"

A step closer, and he was breathing on Draco's face. Very uncomfortable. Draco took a step back, but Harry just followed. Soon, too soon, he was pressed up against the wall. The Malfoy heir was on the verge of screaming for Hermione to come pull the pervert away.

"I just want to see, Draco. Don't you want to know if men turn you on? If _I_ turn you on?"

Draco blinked, but his eyes returned to their wide state quickly after.

"No. I do not want to see if men, or you, turn me on."

Harry sighed and he bent his head, leaning it innocently on Draco's shoulder.

They remained that way for some time, Draco frozen and unable to do anything, and Harry breathing slowly. The blond wasn't sure if he should move, or push Harry away; all he knew was that his heart was beginning to slow down.

"Do girls get a Morning Wood kind of thing?"

Glad for something to talk about, Draco answered. And his voice was almost completely normal, thank Merlin.

"No. They lack penises."

"I mean, do they wake up horny sometimes?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, you usually answer my questions."

"Do I?" he muttered, not really sure how their relationship had progressed over the jump from thirteen to seventeen.

"Yep."

There was another sigh, and Harry lifted his head and looked at Draco, grinning. "Think Pansy's awake? I might just go cuddle with her."

"You, Harry Potter, are very sex driven, aren't you?"

"At least I'm still a virgin!" he said, already walking towards the door.

"Why don't you go visit Granger?"

"Ew. 'Cause she's my mum," Harry said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Remember, if you change your mind about the whole not wanting to be touched thing…"

"I'll know who to talk to, thanks," Draco said sarcastically. Harry shrugged and walked out the door.

"Pansy'll be a better sport than you were, I'm sure!" The voice reverberated through his room, as did the laughter.

When he was gone, all traces of footsteps and laughing included, the remaining teenager didn't really know what to think. Harry… definitely didn't have the same childhood. Growing up at Hogwarts and growing up where he had the first time really had different effects on him. He'd have to call this 'morning snuggling' thing off.

"I'll tell him later," he murmured, before calling on Winky to make his bed and clean his clothes.

He was surprised that he had had classes with Harry that day, as was everyone else. And, what was more, everyone seemed shocked by his behaviour as well. He seemed to know many people – sat with Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas during charms, Hermione and during History, sat with Lavender Brown and that one Patil twin she always spoke with for lunch, made a potion with Neville (it didn't turn out at all like it should have, but Harry seemed to have a jolly good time making it) and even told a joke to Vince Crabbe and Gregory Goyle during Care of Magical Creatures. Draco was sure their brains were working in overtime to understand both Harry's presence _and_ the joke itself, but that didn't matter, because Harry laughed enough for all three of them.

'Popular' wasn't the right word for it, because it was Harry who was talking with everyone, not the other way around. Everyone seemed too shocked to realise they were supposed to respond to this new Potter's ways.

"Harry!"

"Ron! Hey! How've you been, mate?"

Draco didn't spy, it was wrong and bad and Malfoys never sunk that low… but there was nothing wrong with observing two people speaking in a hallway, was there? The fact that he refused to show himself, and instead stayed behind the corner and out of sight, was completely irrelevant.

He had come across them, and he wondered if Weasley was still angry. Didn't seem it, with the way he was smiling like that. Harry didn't seem angry either.

"I've been good, I've been good. Loads of homework, though."

"Oh, don't I know it!" Harry said, laughing. Ron seemed relieved, and Draco glared at him as he continued talking.

"Hey, uh, wanna go play some Quidditch later? We could catch up. I know I was a prat the other day – "

"Don't worry about it Ron. It was years ago to me," Harry said, though his grin lessened a bit. Years ago, and yet his smile was still affected that way.

"Spying on someone, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco spun around, surprised, only to see Professor Snape looking at him expectantly.

"No," he answered instantly. He heard an agreement for Quidditch in the background, and he still wanted to eavesdrop and look, but Snape was making his concentration on that harder and harder. Why was he glaring like that? Naturally creepy, Draco figured.

"I have made the arrangements for your stay. You are the only Slytherin, and I expect you to arrive promptly at eight o'clock each morning for breakfasts. The Slytherin dorms are welcome to you, but you may continue you sleep in the Head Boy's dorm if you wish to do so. Everyone, staff and students, eat at the same table because we have so little people this year. Now, as for proper attire – "

"Professor," Draco said, his voice almost void of emotion. He had forgotten all about this, all about his decision, and now his hollow exterior came naturally to him. "I'm not staying here."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "And why not?"

"I… I forgot to owl Father."

"You _what_?" The professor took a deep breath and rubbed his face. "Draco, do you realise what you've done?"

"I'm going home for the holidays. I'll tell Father I couldn't tell him about my plan, like you said. I'll give him information and dates and figures and death plans. And then, once I'm back at school, I'll think of somewhere to go for the summer so I don't have to return to him or his wrath."

"His wrath isn't the only one you face," Snape said, on the verge of snarling. "The Dark Lord will find you, Draco. This is a serious matter. If he does, and he finds out you've been lying – "

"I didn't mean to forget! I got distracted!"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure that's an excuse He will love to hear."

"I'm sorry! Honest I am!"

"Draco, I didn't want to do this…" Another deep breath was taken, and Draco prepared himself for a blow. "Ten points from Slytherin."

The pupil gaped at him. Had he… just… taken… points…?

"Draco! There you are! Been searching everywhere for you!" Harry came up to them both, grinning at their professor, but when stepped between them and faced Draco, he gave him a look that clearly said 'I'm Here To Save You'. "Been meaning to talk to you. Y'know, about that _thing?_" He turned towards Snape and looked almost mockingly apologetic. "I'm sorry, Professor. It's _quite_ important." The ravenet nodded solemnly, took Draco's arm, and began dragging him away.

"By the way, Professor," Harry called back, looking one hundred percent serious. "Have you ever considered washing your hair?" He turned again, beginning to run, and snickering as he pulled Draco with him. Draco couldn't help but bite his lip, not wanting to smile, and he heard Professor Snape say something about how much more Harry was like his father now, and there was something else after that, but they were too far away for Draco to understand the exact profanity Snape had used.

"What did he _say_ to you? You seriously looked like you were in trouble."

They stopped at the end of a hallway, where Ron had been waiting. Upon seeing Draco, the smile that had been on his face vanished. "Who's he, Harry?"

Harry looked up at the redhead, shocked, before raising his eyebrows and smiling unsurely. "Ron, this is Draco. Draco, Ron. Heh, to think I thought seven years of knowing each other included knowing names."

"I _meant: _What is he doing here?" Ron snapped.

"Well, I had to save him from Greasy Sevy Snape."

"Didn't need saving," Draco huffed, crossing his arms. Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"I'm sure…"

"But why is he with us now?" Ron persisted. Harry looked puzzled, but smiled unsurely again.

"Dunno, figured I'd bring him as far away from that evil professor as possible." He turned to Draco before grinning once more. "Me 'n Ron are gonna play some Quidditch after dinner. Wanna join?"

"Ugh! _Why?_ Harry, you're seventeen again! We can be back to normal now! We can act like nothing ever happened! Just… cut ties with Malfoy!"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because he's insufferable!"

"But… I know that already."

"He's an evil, loathsome, git!"

"He also looks like a ferret, is very sarcastic, and is physically incapable of smiling."

Ron blinked at Harry's words, obviously confused. Then he nodded. "Ex…actly…" he murmured quietly, hesitant.

"But that's what makes him _him_, isn't it? And that's why I love him."

"You _love_ him?" Ron spluttered, his face looking like a battlefield of emotions. It was as if his internal body didn't know whether to make him pale or blush. In the end, Draco guessed it had settled for both.

"Don't be jealous, Ron," Harry said, brushing it off. "I love you too, you know. I've got enough love for everyone."

The redhead looked… indescribable at this declaration. Draco couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation.

The moment he did so, a rather unwanted Slytherin girl passed down the hall. Their eyes locked for a moment, but then she briskly turned her head, her hair flipping in the process, and smiled at Harry.

"Hello, Darling," she greeted.

"'Ello Pansy! Here to take me up on my offer?"

She rolled her eyes and continued on her way. "Don't expect a reply for that any day soon."

"You know you'll come crawling to me when you're ready for it," he muttered smugly. She scoffed but smiled at him.

"Keep dreaming, Sweetheart."

Pansy was gone, and Draco glared after her. Harry looked at him, and the playful look in his eyes softened. "Hey, Draco?"

"What?"

"Are things okay between you and Pansy?"

"Just peachy."

Harry was about to continue when Ron coughed rather loudly. Draco glared at him and his attempt to be noticed. Weasley just glared back.

"I'm not in the mood for Quidditch today, Harry."

"Oh, all right then," the Gryffindor murmured in reply.

"See you later."

Draco walked off, trying to find Professor Snape again, to clue him in on what he planned for the rest of his life, and to ask for some advice.


	12. Goodbyes and Hellos

**A/N: **I'm going to up the rating next chapter. I think. I'm pretty sure. Anywho, enjoy this chapter. I think it turned out more DracoPansy than DracoHarry, but... whatever. That might just be for me. You can take it however you want. xD And yes, we will see Dumbledore again, but in later chapters.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything Harry Potter related.

* * *

The carrying bag was heavy on his shoulder. He wanted to whine and complain about it, but he was just about to see his family again, and he was sure they'd be able to tell if he hadn't been a good Malfoy, sucking up the pain and all.

What was worse was the fact that he was freezing his arse off. Where was Harry? The train whistled behind him. Ten minutes. Damn that stupid and eccentric bloke. Draco had counted on him being on time.

The Slytherin only had to wait a few more minutes before a cheerful Potter came running to him.

"Hey, Draco! Aw, you look so cute and edible with your nose and cheeks all red and whatnot," Harry cooed, pinching Draco's cheeks as he spoke. The blond grumbled a profanity under his breath and shoved the hand away from his cheek, pulling his cloak around him tighter before crossing his arms. He looked towards the train.

"What is it you wanted to say to me? Why couldn't you owl me? No, why couldn't you tell me _yesterday_, when we were warm and inside?"

"Someone's cranky," Harry said, before laughing. This Harry laughed so much more than the other Harry did; Draco knew this because he wasn't the only person to have made that comment the past week. "And it's because, had I told you _yesterday_, it wouldn't have been a proper goodbye, now would it?"

The blond sighed and shut his eyes in frustration. He hated the cold. He opened them only to glare at the other male. "Well, say goodbye, then! I haven't got all day!"

His reaction made Harry chuckle, which wasn't at all surprising.

"I guess this is it, then, Draco Lucien Malfoy. How I wish we could spend Christmas in each other's presence, but, alas, the gods have no intention of bringing us together." Another eye roll on Draco's part, but Harry seemed to ignore it, settling instead for continuing his theatrical farewell. "How I'll miss you, dear friend. Your insults and sarcasm will bless my thoughts each minute we are apart."

"Ugh, is this why I'm outside in _glacial_ wind? So you can pretend you're part of a play?"

"Just let me finish!" Harry cried, before coughing a little, and acting as if the outburst had never happened. "Will you think of me when you're home?"

"No. Can I go now?"

"You're terrible at goodbyes, Draco."

"Sucks to be me then, doesn't it?"

Harry grinned and fumbled with something in his pocket. Draco didn't have time for this; he could feel the snow falling on him, and as much as it was bound to make him look incredibly attractive in contrast to his dark cloak, and probably angelic with his already pale hair, each snowflake felt like it was burning his skin. "I'm leaving now. Good bye, Harry," he murmured, turning to go.

"Ugh, will you _hold on?_ I'm not finished yet!" Harry stepped in front of his friend and finally pulled out what he had been searching for: a single red rose. It was almost a bud, the petals all closed in together, not one of the ruby petals out of place and blooming. Smiling in that new way of his, he offered it to Draco with a dramatic bow. "For you, Draco Lucien Malfoy."

Draco stared at it, his breath having caught. It was quite beautiful, the way the stem was perfectly erect, and how the flower itself didn't waver with the breeze at all. It was nicer than the dandelion and the daisy. He hoped Harry couldn't tell how he was feeling, mostly because he wasn't sure how he was feeling himself. Wouldn't that be awkward, if Harry were able to sort out how the blond was feeling when the blond wasn't even sure?

Eventually, he reached out to take it.

"I got it de-thorned, so you wouldn't prick your pretty little hands," Harry said. Draco merely nodded, not looking at the Gryffindor, just staring at his new flower. But then Harry, the confident, suave, new seventeen-year-old Harry, looked quite hesitant and unsure. The fact that he had changed like that seemed cause a laugh from his own mouth, and before Draco knew it, his flower-giving friend was pushing him towards the train.

"Do you like the rose?" he whispered, and the blond finally snapped out of it.

"No. It's an ugly flower, Harry." Lie.

"Hmm, I thought you would say that," Harry murmured, with a playful shove to Draco's back. "Well, that's fine. You're quite picky, I know."

"Mhmm."

"Happy Christmas, Draco!" he called when Draco finally made the first step onto the train.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," he answered, turning to look at him.

"May all your wet dreams be blessed with my presence!"

Before he could reply, the final warning whistle was heard, and Draco just smirked and waved. It was time to find a seat and prepare for the journey.

He hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, the bag he was carrying seemed light now, and he stared intently at his gift. A small smile graced his lips as he thought about how much better he preferred this Harry. Harry the First wasn't at all as charming. Harry the Second, the one he knew _now_… he was wonderful to be around. Even when they had been angry with each other, when Harry Number Two had been five and nine, it had still been better than any time he had spent with the first Harry.

Why were they so different? They still had the same people around him: Ron, Hermione, the other Gryffindors, Draco… Yet, he wasn't at all the same. Could his childhoods have been _that_ different?

"He gave you another flower?"

He turned towards the open compartment door to see Pansy sitting there alone. He hesitated in front of the door, his hand instinctively hiding the flower behind his back. "Don't know how that's any of your business."

"Draco, sit down. This is the last compartment – all the others are filled."

"I'd rather stand then, thank you."

They stared at each other, and the girl raised an un-amused eyebrow. The train began moving, and he almost fell to the floor with the initial jolt. "Oh fine," he sighed, stepping in and closing the door, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly after his stumble. "If you _insist_."

It was quite awkward. Draco shifted apprehensively as Pansy stared at him continuously. She barely even blinked. Was this some kind of staring contest? If so, Draco didn't want to play! He tried busying himself with placing his flower carefully in his bag (in that hidden compartment where he hid the other two). He tried to read his Potion's book so he would know what to write for his essay. But she just wouldn't stop staring! It was enough to make him want to scream. Just a blank stare… Not even an angry one. Just a blank, stoic look…

"What? What is so bloody interesting about me that you won't look away?"

"I can't believe you're doing this."

Anger began to build up in him, seemingly out of nowhere, though he knew where it did come from. Why couldn't they just be civil again, without talking about that? Why was he always the stupid one in all these conversations? Who did she think she was? "Pansy, I don't need this from you. I know it's a bad idea. I have no other choice!"

She shook her head and looked out the window. "He'll hurt you."

"He loves me."

"He loves the Dark Lord more."

Draco glared at her. "He does not. I'm his only son. I'm his _heir_, the last of the Malfoys. He loves me. He doesn't want to hurt me."

"But he will."

It infuriated him more now that she _wasn't_ looking at him. He wanted to stand and shout, possibly strike her. He shut his eyes tightly and took deep breaths, trying to mask his emotions as he had been taught to do his whole life.

"Mother won't let him hurt me."

"Your mother is spending the holidays with us."

The air in the compartment suddenly went tense; it was almost too thick for Draco to breath in.

"…what?"

"My father told me last week. Said that your mother would be spending the holidays with us, save for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and New Year's Day."

The already pale teenager lost all colour, as if someone had flushed it out of his system: obviously his blood was too cold to heat up any of his body any longer. He couldn't speak for a long time, and even if he could have, he wouldn't have known what to say.

Just him and his father, for two weeks. That could only mean terrible things. It could only be bad. It could only include lessons and punishments, and Draco let out a tiny croak as the thoughts entered his head.

"You should have owled him."

"I forgot." Suddenly it seemed like such a witless mistake. How easily all this could have been avoided. How easily he could have steered clear of all of this. "I-it isn't my fault. I got distracted. I didn't… I didn't…"

"The spy has been in contact with your father again. My father told me. You know how much my father and yours hate each other. The letter he wrote me was a happy one. If our mums hadn't been friends in school, my father would probably be asking _me_ for information about you and Harry."

His eyes began to sting. How could this get any worse? "Wh-what did the spy say?" his words could barely be considered a whisper.

"I don't know."

They made eye contact. Draco blinked quickly, trying to rid himself of the watery residue. There wasn't anything left to do now. He had to go home, no matter what. The train was already half way there…

"Mother won't let Father do anything to me."

"Draco," Pansy said, looking all the world like she was restraining herself from slapping him, "Your mother is spending the holidays with _us_. I just said that."

"M-maybe I'm to go with her."

Pansy shook her head. She stood, crossed the short distance, and sat beside Draco. He refused to look away from her vacant spot, raw fear in his eyes, a fear he refused to let her see.

"I'm really sorry, Draco."

He shook his head, as if by doing so, he could stop everything.

"I'll feed him my fake plan. I'll be cool and calm. I'll tell him that I plan on getting rid of Harry."

"Draco! Stop that!" Pansy cried out, her shrill voice coming as a shock to him, seeing as their words had been quiet only moments before.

"What else am I supposed to do, huh Pansy? Tell me, if you're so against this idea! What the _hell _am I supposed to do?"

Pansy stared at her lap, her hand fiddling with her wand. Playing with the tip, nervously shaking it… Fiddling with her wand? A sign that she was thinking! Years of being around her had taught him that her most brilliant plans had been thought out as she played with her wand. A smile broke out on his face at the first sign of this; the smallest glimmer of hope filled his body completely, his heart racing.

"What? What can I do? You know a way, don't you? I can tell. Tell me, Pansy. You know what I can do!" He was almost in tears with the prospect of having an _actual_ plan. Pansy would tell him, he would tell Snape, and together they'd execute it. "Spit it out!"

She seemed reluctant to do so. All Draco could think about was how selfish she was, wasting seconds that could be spent trying to salvage his future, trying to rid him of the pain to come.

"You can switch sides."

Even his insides froze at that. He was sure his blood was no longer pumping inside him, certain that it was only a matter of time until the lack of oxygen killed him. He couldn't even reply to that, his face just as frozen as the rest of his body. She turned to look at him, and immediately she began blabbing all her thoughts, everything leaking out of her mouth like a disgusting guck that Draco wanted to avoid.

"It would work, Draco. It isn't too late. You haven't been marked yet. And your father won't be able to hurt you under Dumbledore's protection. Under _Harry's_ protection – "

"Pansy," he started warningly, his breath slowly returned to him as his body began to fill with alarm. How serious would she take this idea?

"Harry wouldn't let anything happen to you, I'm sure of it! And you'd just have to live through this, live through the Winter Holidays, and then you'd be a free man!"

"I'd be in hiding!" he said, panic finding a way into his voice.

"You'd be _safe_! Do you know how many people are hidden on that side? Why, Potter's parents had been hidden!"

"And they were found!"

"They were _betrayed_!" A smile was forming on her lips, an insane, desperate one. "There's a difference! They'll hide you! You'll live."

"I can live without – "

"You can live through _this _without switching sides: the holidays. You can't live through the summer. You can't live through the Dark Lord, Draco. He's too powerful. He won't care for your stupid lies. He'll know!"

"Pansy, stop – "

"You have to switch sides! You can't be hurt!" She began crying, shaking her head, the tears falling into her lap and onto Draco as she leaned into him. "Harry will vouch for you," she grabbed onto his robes, pulling herself closer to him. Draco was beginning to get freaked out by this Pansy, beginning to worry, beginning to fear… "He will! He loves you, Draco! Loves you like we love him, like Granger and Weasley and I love him. If you tell him, if you _explain_ – "

"It won't work!"

"Yes it will! It will! Don't be stupid! Stop being stupid!" She yelled at him, her tears still falling, shaking his shoulders violently, her shouts loud and demanding. "They'll _kill_ you, don't you see? Don't you get it? They want him _dead_, and if you don't kill him, you'll be useless! Don't you see? Don't you _understand_? You can't kill Harry Potter! That's the only reason He wants you. That's all we're good for! And you can't do it, neither can I! We _can't_… you can't…"

She collapsed onto him, dreadful sobs shaking her body. Draco had never seen her like this, never seen this bubbly and collected girl break down like this, and it was terrifying. Pansy clung to him, refusing to let go, and Draco couldn't help but try to comfort her, pulling her closer to him, holding on tightly. But he wasn't looking at her, was instead staring ahead of him, unsure if there were too many thoughts in his head or none at all.

The train was slowing down, he suddenly realised. It was at that point he hated himself. What kind of thought was that? His best friend was still crying in his arms, she had proposed the wildest plan ever, his father was going to do Merlin knows what with him, and all he could think about was the fact that the train was stopping.

Pansy hiccupped and pulled away.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Draco," she murmured, her eyes fixed on his robes. "I've got you all wet."

She looked up at him, but he couldn't bear to look at her with her eyes puffy and red, with tear tracks on her face.

It was silent; the train was going slower and slower. He didn't think either of them were breathing. Words were left hanging in the air, and his mind grasped for them, wanting to know them, but it was an impossible task. He just had to wait for her to talk again.

"Whose side are you on?"

He inwardly flinched at that horrible question. "It's not about sides, Pansy. It was never about sides."

"So you won't mind, then."

"I won't mind? I won't mind betraying my father? I won't mind shaming my entire family? My _name_? I won't mind becoming a target for the fucking Dark Lord?"

"It's not about sides – "

"No! It's about being fucking safe!"

"Which you will be," her voice was soft and gentle. She knew it was a touchy subject, Draco realised. She knew exactly how he would take it. Her own tears had caused the interruption. How long had this meeting been planned? Maybe if he hadn't lost his mind that morning he received the Howler, she would have told him sooner, when there chance for him to not be hurt at _all_, when he could have spoken to Dumbledore about it, when it didn't scare the shit out of him. He felt like his father was watching him at that very moment, which made his mind scrambled.

"I'll never be safe now."

"Yes you will. Harry thinks of you as his best friend. He told me so. If you just went to him, now that he's older, now that he could understand your situation – "

"Harry? _Harry?_ You mean the bloke who has no idea how much he hates me because some stupid potion wiped his memory and childhood away? Harry, the guy who hated everything I stood for? The one who's now oblivious to how much he wants to stay away from me?"

"That's not true. He doesn't hate you."

"He doesn't hate me _now_. When Snape's done with that potion… It'll all be over. Harry'll hate me again. It won't even _be_ 'Harry' anymore. He'll be Potter again."

"But he'll remember all this. Pomfrey explained it to me. He'll remember his time with you – "

"Even more reason for him to fucking hate me! For actually being his friend, for causing a rift between him and the Weasel, for spending his childhood with him!"

"He's not like that. He'll still like you. I know he will."

"Are you even thinking about this properly? Forget this Harry, forget _our_ Harry, okay? Think of the _other_ Harry."

"The _other_ Harry is a part of _this_ Harry! Stop being so dimwitted, Draco! Stop trying to find reasons for this not to work! You're so stubborn, wanting to be right all the time. Do you want to be right at a time like this? _Do you_?"

The train gave a jolt, similar to the first one. They had stopped. He stood up, causing Pansy to almost roll onto the floor. She caught herself though, and began rubbing at her eyes and fixing her hair. A mirror was pulled out of her pocket, and she began furiously doing her make up. He caught her glaring into the reflection, watched as she practically rubbed her skin off as she forcefully applied a cream to hide the puffy eyes and to remove any trace of tears. The only thing she couldn't fix was the pink in the white of her eyes.

Draco didn't want to be around her. He didn't want any of this. He realised now that even if he stopped being Harry's friend, if he pushed him away like he had tried to do before, it wouldn't make a difference. The damage was done, he had already spent time with him, and he couldn't kill the Boy Who Lived. He opened the compartment door slowly, his muscles unable to be strong or quick after having been locked up with nerves.

"Draco?" He turned to look at her, hoping she'd take that unthinkable plan out of his mind. But she didn't. "Have faith in Harry, yeah? In all of him."

Angrily, he slammed the door behind him. Running had been an option to him, a nice one. Not running away, but just… running. An outlet for his anger. It was the closest thing he had to flying, seeing as he hadn't brought his broom. But he was stuck in line as the excited and giggling students queued up to leave the train. He was mad at all of them, for not knowing his fear, for not knowing his pain to come. It wasn't fair.

Forever had passed with Draco and his thoughts about Pansy's wishes, but eventually he made it off the train. He could spot his father immediately, posture rigid, the air around him demanding obedience. Just the look of Lucius Malfoy like this, no fault on his pale flesh, or in his clothes for that matter, his grey eyes cold as steel in winter, made Draco want to cower. He used to admire it, how everyone stared in awe at him, as if time slowed down so he could be considered, so one could drink up the authority. But he couldn't admire it now. Now he was afraid of it.

Bravely, he marched towards his dad. "Hello, Father," he said, trying to make his face as emotionless as possible. His father spared him only one glance, and that was enough to tell him everything he needed to know. He was in trouble. The elder Malfoy held out a rope, Draco took it without hesitating, and his entire being was being pulled and crammed in every direction. He was being squeezed through a tunnel of darkness, of whirling and dizzying nothingness, so fast that it hurt.

His feet slammed onto the floor, and the portkey ride was over.

Draco was home.


	13. The Love of a Parent

**A/N: **This chapter is sort of short. Sorry. But it's just that, y'know, I only needed this chapter to show you his relationship with his parents. Thanks to plbsgirl for the definition of 'T' rated fanfiction. I've upped the rating. And… I'm sorry to TheOptimisticPessimist if this isn't a very good Abusive!Lucius… I've never written anything with a lot of violence before. Hope it's okay. And, FYI, this chapter is as far away from fluffy as you can get. But it's Hogwarts again in the next chapter, with Pansy, Hermione, and Harry. Right then. Enjoy?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything Harry Potter related.

* * *

"Draco, honey!" 

His clothes were crushing him. His pants pressed too tightly against his legs, and it hurt like hell to sit there on the chair.

"Oh, I've missed you so much."

Her kisses burnt his cheek, his bruises screaming an unimaginable pain, but he let her go on, not daring to meet her eyes.

"Did you open your gifts yet?"

Her hug made it almost impossible to breath; his eyes watered as she crushed his already injured ribs, but he said nothing, instead choosing to keep his mouth shut.

"Your father hasn't been too hard on you, has he?"

There was so much worry in her whispered voice. He turned to her, his face expressionless, as his father had warned him it should be in her presence. He wanted to hold her, to cry in her arms, to tell her to make it better, to take away all the pain, as only a mother can.

"No. He hasn't."

"Oh, that's wonderful, then."

His father was right there, watching his every move. He couldn't smile, it was impossible now, his entire being shattered and incapable, but he didn't dare complain.

"How's my little dragon been, then?"

And they ate. His mother was placated by his appearance and his father spoke as if nothing had happened the past few days. Draco stored as much food in his stomach as he could, without trying to seem as starved as he actually was. Glamour charms hid his bruises and cuts, hid his horrible looking lip and nose, and hid his shame. Tonight he'd be allowed to sleep in his room, only because his mother was there. He wanted desperately for her to stay. His father didn't seem keen on sharing his son's pain with his wife, so if the wife stayed, the pain would be spared. But Draco didn't get his hopes up; he knew that there was no way any pain would be withheld from his body.

It was insane how innocent Lucius sat there, actually smiling at him and his mother. It made Draco want to vomit, literally. He felt sick to his stomach, but he continued eating, even when his parents had finished. Who knew when he'd be offered food again? He only stopped when his father made a little cough deep in his throat. Draco pushed the plate away, and stared ahead of him.

He was surprised when he had received his gifts; the amount wasn't surprising – everything and anything a seventeen year old could ask for – but the fact that he had actually _received_ gifts this year shocked him. Maybe people weren't supposed to know just how badly he had messed up.

He thanked his parents without looking them in the eye.

Narcissa left the next day, as planned, and urged Draco to 'try and have a nice vacation'. Was she stupid? Was she missing something essential in that blonde head of hers? Draco would have laughed if his face didn't hurt so much.

_Slap._

He was on the cold dungeon floor, trying not to shudder.

"Did you think you could get away with all this nonsense?"

He wiped the blood from his chin, only to have a blow delivered to his sides via his father's foot.

He wondered if Pansy was having a nice Christmas.

"Did you think it was alright to shame us all?"

He wondered if Blaise had gotten that strange telescope he had wanted, so he could prove that one of the craters in the moon really did look like Morion Stein, the lead singer of the Weird Sisters.

His hair was painfully yanked, and his dull eyes were only inches away from his father's.

"Did you think I would take this _lightly?_"

He could pretend the hiss on his face was like a breeze, a breeze of the summer to come. He could picture himself on the shore of the lake, nudging Vince and Greg. 'Go on, try to make the squid appear. I _dare_ you…'

"Are you listening to me? You don't deserve to be a Malfoy! You don't deserve our blood!"

He could picture Hogwarts as clearly as if he was there: annoying students walking around, fearing him and his friends. And he never minded that they feared him, was proud of it instead. It showed in his smirk, in his arrogant walk, just how glad he was as his position as Intimidating Slytherin.

"I found your flowers, my little dragon."

And suddenly, all his daydreaming was ripped away from him. No longer was Draco able to detach himself from his pain, from his beating, from his father. He had snapped out of it, but he craved desperately for his mind to leave again.

"Well? What have you got to say for yourself, now that I have your attention?"

"I don't have any flowers."

"_Lies!_"

Hogwarts, Pansy, Blaise, anything but this. He tried with all his might to think of something else as his father's hands and feet and fists and snarls were directed at him. But it didn't work anymore. Before, he had drifted away from his body; it had felt as if it hadn't been him receiving the hits, as if it was someone else, and he was merely an onlooker, watching curiously as the man abused a body so similar to his own. Now he felt it all, strongly, and the reality of what was being done couldn't be erased by a mere fantasy. His father's anger was as real as the bruises on his body.

"You don't deserve to be pure! You're a traitor!"

His father was usually a composed man. A courteous man, always muttering the Mister and the Miss before the name, always gracious in all he did, that was Lucius Malfoy. But this… This was a side of him Draco had never seen. Wild and feral, so absorbed in his carrying out of the punishment that his son's tears and pleas had done nothing to slow him down. But Draco hadn't pleaded or cried since the third day. It was useless. It wouldn't do him any good.

His eyes were open, but he couldn't see anything. His vision was fuzzy and unfocused as he lay on the floor. If he listened, he could hear his father's panting – but he _wasn't _listening. The dizziness that surrounded him was welcomed. If he was lucky, Draco would lose consciousness.

"The blood that flows through your veins is a gift, Draco. A gift you don't deserve. You don't deserve my blood."

He blinked, his cheek against the stone floor. He watched, almost dazed, as the blood he didn't deserve pooled around him. How ironic. His father controlled everything about him, it seemed. The blood was listening to his father, understanding that it wasn't to pump through his veins anymore, that he didn't warrant it, so it left his body through his nose and mouth and deep wounds that his father had created for its escape.

Everything began to darken. Draco felt cold all around, felt a pain he'd never been able to dream about before. He couldn't move, certain at least one of his legs was broken, and that at least three of his ribs had followed suit. Breathing caused a sharp stab inside him, but he didn't complain, didn't even wince. He lay expressionless on the floor, watching the tiny streams of crimson leaving him.

He was positive this was what dying felt like.

"Son, I hate to see you like this. I hope you learn from your errors. Harry Potter is the enemy. You have failed to incapacitate him in any way, any way at all that could aid our Master. I hope these two weeks will help you in seeing how things should be done. I expect this problem to be taken care of when school commences again. Do not fail me, my little dragon."

And Draco Malfoy's world became black.

* * *

"Lucius, this has to stop." 

"Narcissa, do you not realise what he's done?"

"I realise full well what he's done. But _look at him!_"

"You arrived early. I didn't have time to put the glamour charms on him yet."

"Glamour charms…? Was he like this last time I was here?"

"I already told you what I planned to do with the boy – "

A muffled sob was heard, but Draco only barely registered it with the pounding of his head. It was throbbing intensely, and he couldn't even whimper, though he wanted to badly. His whole face felt like if he tried to contort it in pain, it would burst at the seams, ripping open each scab. Merlin, his _head_. He wanted to put pressure on it, to squeeze his skull, so that maybe the thudding of his brain against his cranium could be contained.

"He's our son, Lucius! Our only son!"

"More of a reason for him to be punished. The Dark Lord does not like the weak."

"Our son… my son…"

"'Cissa, please. It's hard enough without your crying. Don't look at me like that, you know it needs to be done. He's friends with the boy he is being trained to kill."

"So you'll kill him if he isn't able to? My son will never be a murderer!"

"He's _our_ son, and he'll do what the Dark Lord wishes of him!"

"He isn't a murderer. I don't want him to be a murderer, Lucius. There are plenty of Death Eaters who serve the Dark Lord without – "

"Without _what_? Do you know how rewarded we'll be if Draco is the one who succeeds in killing the boy? Do you know how great we'll become? All our errors, all my errors of the past, they'll all be forgiven if Draco will just – "

"Stop beating my son, Lucius!"

"Narcissa, I don't want to hear this. You agreed that this was the only way – "

"I've changed my mind! I've changed it! Stop hurting him."

"No."

"What if this source of yours is lying? What if this is all a mistake?"

"It isn't."

"How do you know that? _How?_"

"The flowers that blasted boy gave to Draco? The ones the spy told me about? I found them, hidden in his bag."

"That… that means nothing…"

"You know very well that he only hides precious things! He's been doing it since he was little, remember? We'd laugh when he hid his first broom from us, when he hid those cookies under his bed. But this is no laughing matter. This is serious. I will not have my son thinking that some flower is precious to him."

"Lucius – "

"My son will not be friends with Harry Potter, will not cherish anything that retched boy gives him!"

"I don't care about his status with Harry Potter!"

Draco was gasping on the bed as the headache grew. Shuddering breaths were leaving his chest, his face unwillingly shifting, the pain making him want to cry out. Tears began to fall silently, and they burned at his opening wounds, making him squirm in the bed with the sting of it all. He had thought his tear ducts dry in the dungeons, but they seemed effective now.

"That's blasphemous, Narcissa. His status with Harry Potter means _everything_."

"No it doesn't. I can't bear to see my baby like this. My baby, oh my baby… my little dragon…"

He couldn't hear his mother's crying, couldn't hear anything anymore. He wasn't sure if he was screaming or not, but his throat was aching him, dry and scratchy and raw. No, he wasn't screaming, but he must have screamed earlier. If he was screaming now, his parents would have heard him.

"It's better like this."

"Better? Better than _what_?"

"I told the Dark Master I would take care of him. And that's what I'm doing. I have the memories to prove it, not once going easy on my heir. Had Draco been given to the Dark Lord…"

"My _baby_!" The wails were louder, but Draco's gasps were getting louder too. "Lucius, Draco, my baby…"

"This is for the better."

"How can you stand doing this to him? Dark Lord or not, he's your son! Your seed! The last of the Malfoys! And you're _killing him!_"

"Shut up!" came the roar from the other side of the door. "This is better than watching my son die by the hands of our Master. He would have been more ruthless than I, more torturous than I, and he would have made us both watch! Is that what you want, Narcissa? Do you want to see that flash of green light hit our son?"

"N-no."

He couldn't help it now – he cried out in pain, unable to contain it any longer. "M-mummy! Mummy, please. _Please!_" Make it go away, he silently begged. Make it all go away.

"This conversation is over."

He couldn't hear the footsteps coming in the room, the pain searing hot and confusing all his senses. Draco felt terribly cold and terribly warm at the same time; he wanted to die. He didn't care if he should be wanting to get through this. He didn't. He didn't care if it was the coward's way out to want death. He wanted it to be over, even if it meant ending everything. "_Mummy!"_ he screamed again, before feeling something on his forehead.

"Shh, shh, mummy's here, Draco. Mummy's here, my little dragon. Everything will be okay."

With his mind in it's scrambled state, confusion and pain the only thing he could really feel, he was able to believe her. Everything would be okay. Everything would be fine. His mother would make everything alright again.

Nothingness surrounded Draco and took him away, dragging him into a world made of black, not for the first time.

When he awoke, his mother was gone and his father was in her place, ready to strike him again.


	14. Prisoner of Hogwarts

**A/N: **Right then, well, back to Hogwarts we go! Let's leave the cruelties behind, shall we? Er, well, as much of it as we possibly can. Mmkay, anywho, moving on. I like this chapter, er, well, I like Harry in this chapter. Hope you do, too. xD

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

* * *

His wounds had been spelled away, which meant a completely unhurt Draco Malfoy returned to school when the holidays were over. At least, he was physically unhurt. He felt dead on the inside; he ignored all of Pansy's concerned words on the train, ignored anyone who approached him, really. He just stared at nothing, the look on his face void and without any trace of life. 

It wasn't done purposely: he didn't want to ignore them. He wanted to tell them all what happened, to yell and cry and make a big deal about it, as he usually did with situations. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. This wasn't like when Buckbeak had injured his arm in his third year. Then he had wanted revenge, had complained and told his story to anyone who would listen, would exaggerate so that he came out the victor in the end. But now he just felt awful about what had happened to him, and he wanted to keep silent about it. What would people think of him if they knew his father beat him? What would happen to his reputation, to the reactions he was able to get out of everyone, if they knew the truth? He was ashamed.

And so, looking as disconnected as he felt, Draco Malfoy made his way alone into the dungeons of Hogwarts. Three firm knocks were placed against a large oak door, and soon a very irritated looking Potion's Master was staring down at a very corpse-like Draco Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape snapped, before taking in his appearance. He sighed, as if he could see everything that had happened during the break, and for the briefest of moments, his look softened. But then it went back to normal, and Draco had been too out of it to notice in the first place. "Mr. Malfoy, this really isn't the time to speak with me."

"I'm here to talk about something very important, Professor," Draco drawled, watching nothing in particular.

"I'm sure it can wait until later tonight." There was a crash from inside the room, and Severus glared ahead of him, obviously imagining something. "Or tomorrow."

"No. It needs to be dealt with immediately."

The man sighed and hesitated. Then, looking rather reluctant, he stepped aside and allowed the blond access to his private quarters. As soon as he stepped in, the yelling began, and he couldn't help but widen his grey eyes at the shock of it.

"See? And where has _he_ been for the past _ever_?"

There was Harry Potter, dressed in not only robes, but a cloak as well, flailing his arms and leaning against Snape's desk.

"Please, Mr. Potter – "

"S'not _fair! _Yer not yelling at him, are you? No, jus' me. Today is Le's All Lecture Harry Day, innit? Not _fair!_"

Draco seemed able to concentrate on something, which was weird considering the circumstances, but this was just as weird, so maybe it wasn't weird at all. Harry was… slurring. And he didn't look so good, not as nice as the seventeen year old looked. His face looked unshaven, his hair messier than ever, and his eyes had a tiny bit of pink in them.

"Mr. Potter, I don't have time for this. Go back and sit on the bed. I'll deal with you when I'm through with Mr. Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated, staring at the blond, confused. Then, realisation dawning on him, a lopsided grin blossomed on his face. "Hey!" he said, much too loud, "Draco! W's'up, buddy? How you doin'? Missed you, pal!" Draco winced as an arm was draped around his shoulders, and Harry leaned heavily onto him. When he spoke, his face was only inches from Draco's, his voice still loud, his green eyes wide and excited, his breath smelling of… whiskey?

"Have a nice Christmas, Drakey-ake-oh? Because mine _sucked!_" And Harry pushed off him, pointing an accusatory finger at Snape, but he stumbled, having pushed off Draco just a tad too hard. "S'not _fair!_" he repeated, as if he didn't notice his own fall. Snape shut his eyes and rubbed at them tiredly. "Draco got to leave! Everyone else got to leave! Even you get to leave in the summer! And what about _me?_ I have to stay here all year round, makin' friends with the ghosts and with Filch. _Filch!_ Do you know how bad it is when you only have Filch to… to… uh… to… Hey Draco, you cut yer hair?"

"Mr. Potter, go in the bed and find a quiet way to amuse yourself while I discuss very important matters with Mr. Malfoy."

At that, Harry began giggling madly, using Snape's desk to help him stand again. "Oh, Sevvy-wevvy," he murmured, clutching onto the Professor's arm. "You want me to… to 'muse myself. In your _bed_." He waved a finger in front of the older man's face. "Naughty, naughty. What would Dumbledore have to say 'bout that?" Another fit of giggling ensued, and Draco was very, _very_ freaked out. Why couldn't anything in his life be normal?

"I don't have time for this." Snape shoved the other male through the door, closed it, and locked it with his wand. They both heard an 'oomph' from the other side, and another wave of laughter.

"Your carpet is so soft! Wait. You wash _this_, b'not yer hair? Profess'r, s'no sense! If you washed your hair once a month, I wouldn't feel so bad 'bout 'musing myself in yer bed, y'know…"

"I hate him!" Snape shouted, clutching at his hair. Draco raised a brow at him, never having seen his professor lose his cool. Leave it to Potter to make him angry as hell. "Every time he grows, he gets more and more like his blasted father." He sat himself in his chair with a huff, and Draco took the seat in front of him. It took merely three seconds for the snarl to wipe off the other man's face and for a composed air to surround him. "Now, Mr. Malfoy – "

"Gimme, gimme, gimme a man before midnight! Won't somebody do me… er… like the… shadows _something_…"

"Shut that incessant and terrible singing!" Snape bellowed at the door. Everything went silent, and then more giggling was heard.

"Sevvy," Harry called (slyly?) from the other side of the door. "I can't do _incest _with you, silly! We're not related! I can call you 'Daddy' if you want, though." Draco was beginning to forget why he came here with Harry's antics, which wasn't good. Harry had made him forget something once before, and the results had been disastrous. He couldn't let that happen again. He focused his mind on why he was here. He needed Snape's help. Needed to talk to Dumbledore. Needed to switch sides. It was surprisingly hard to think about that when his twenty-one year old friend kept repeating 'daddy' over and over again, rather breathlessly, mixed with moans and sighs and grunts and...

Ew. That was disgusting. And apparently, Snape thought so too. He got up and began banging on the door to his room and cussing extremely loud for him to stop that. Draco's eyes widened for the second time that night. He didn't even know some of those words existed.

Harry eventually quieted down, but the occasional titter floated onto their side of the room. Snape sat back down, rubbed at his face, and sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, please tell me what you wish to tell me."

"Professor," Draco said, not at all hesitating. There wasn't anything in him that wanted to hesitate anymore, not after the way his father treated him, not after dreaming what the Dark Lord would do to him. "I don't want to serve You Know Who."

Snape didn't react. Draco wanted him to react, was watching him expectantly. Some life was restored to his eyes, a desperate life, a life that craved his superior's help.

"Draco, do you know what that would mean?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think I can help you?"

"Dumbledore," Draco said simply, firmly. "He trusts you."

"I have the Mark – "

"And he still trusts you. I'm glad that old coot is a moron. You can tell him I don't want to be a part of this anymore."

Why was Snape hesitating? He sat there in complete silence, and Draco could tell he was debating something in his mind. There was something Draco didn't know. Even Harry seemed to have quieted down for the time being.

"I'm a spy."

Draco held his breath. Snape? Snape was the spy? Snape was the person who told his father everything? No. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't possibly be. He trusted Snape! Snape was practically his best friend! Snape wouldn't, couldn't, Snape was…

"For the Dark Lord?" Draco asked hopefully. Yes. Snape was a spy for the Dark Lord. Snape spied on Dumbledore and the like.

"No. Not for the Dark Lord."

Damn it! Now he would tell his father about this. How much more could the blond take? How much harder could his father hit him? Probably lots. He was mad just because he had befriended the Boy Who Lived. Imagine if he knew that he wanted to be on his side as well?

Draco had never felt so betrayed in his life. Even when he had thought the spy was Pansy, it didn't pain him this much. He was panicking, his chest heaving with the quickened breaths.

"I'm a spy, Draco, a spy - "

Suddenly, the door leading to Snape's bedroom burst open, and Harry stood there with an incredulous look in his eye. Severus stood up, snarling again.

"How did you – "

"Magic!" Harry beamed, waving his wand around, then laughing. "You never told me you were a spy, Sevvy! Agent Snape, double-oh-Sevvy. AHA! Get it? Double-oh-_Sevvy_!" This wasn't giggling – this was full blown laughter. Draco didn't get it, was barely registering anything, his eyes only on Snape. But Snape apparently got the joke. He wasn't laughing though.

"That isn't funny."

"Snape. _Severus_ Snape. Da-da-_dum_. Shaken, not slurred." More laughter on Potter's part. Harry actually collapsed onto the floor, unable to stand in his inebriated and laughing state. Snape seemed to want to correct something Harry had said, but instead turned his attention back on Draco. Obviously he wanted to ignore the bratty not-so-teenage male.

"As I was saying, I'm a spy for Dumbledore. It is his side I'm really on."

The glare and betrayal left Draco's eyes. Instead, he was confused. "You fight… for Harry?" That seemed rather farfetched, seeing how close Snape was to throttling the boy.

"Yes," he said, giving the other a sidelong glare that showed his obvious distaste for the boy. "I fight for Harry. I defend him. I need to do it, for he is the only one who can vanquish the Dark – "

"You fight for me?" Harry shouted in a high pitched voice, crawling towards Snape. "Aww, yer so _nice_. Yer just a… just a big, nice, putty-cat, aren't you Sevvy? Under all that mean, dirty 'sterior, you're just a greasy kitten, aren't you? Aren'choo? Ow!"

"Don't touch me," Severus said plainly, before turning to Draco. "I'm glad you're switching sides, Draco. We will need to contact Dumbledore, get this straightened out, as soon as possible."

Draco smiled and sighed with relief. His sigh was practically a laugh. He was feeling so good at the moment. He wouldn't need to go back to his father. Wouldn't need to suffer. Great. Wonderful. But he still wasn't sure how normal he'd be after all that had happened on his Christmas break. It had taken so much out of him, so much life…

Snape smiled at him. This took him aback, because as much as he respected his professor, there were certain things Draco just never expected. Snape smiling was one of them. It looked so genuine, too. So Draco smiled back, half forcing, but the other half was authentic. "Thank you," he murmured. Now that this was cleared up, he could feel the deadness creeping back into his soul, could feel the dread of his memories returning to him. He didn't want that, so he spoke, trying to distract himself. He didn't want to think of his father, not now, when so much hope was promised to him.

"Harry?"

"Yessir, Draco, sir?"

"Why are you – " Snape's eyes widened.

"Oh no. Oh Draco, don't. Don't – "

" - drunk?" It was too late. Snape groaned and his face fell into his hands. Harry stood up gravely, looking sombre, not at all like the giggling boy of seconds before. Draco might have thought he was sober now, if not for the fact that he was having a hard time getting up from the floor.

"Draco, you don't know what it's been like here," he said, his voice a loud whisper. "It's so terrible, being locked away in this castle. Terrible. Awful." Maybe he would have taken this more seriously if Harry's speech didn't sound so impaired. Trying to be fully concentrated on only Harry, only what was happened now, he listened attentively.

"Mr. Potter, I need to speak to Draco about his – "

"Hush, Sevvy!" Harry said, before turning back to face Draco. "Draco, do you know how long I've been here?"

Draco shrugged. "Two weeks?"

"NO!" Harry cried, glaring at Draco. "I've been here sis'teen years, Draco. Sis'teen!"

"Mr. Potter, please calm down – "

"And _all I wanted_ was to leave. Jus' fer a little! Sis'teen years!" he repeated the time again, his arms flailing around again. "I graduate almost _four years ago!_"

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"You're only holding up three fingers."

Harry stared at his fingers with much focus. After deciding how to correct his error – which took a surprising amount of time – he held up four instead. "Four years ago!" he repeated again.

"Mhmm."

"And so, I was all: _screw that!_ I've been living here for four years when I should be out in the world, getting a job, working, finding a girl, getting married!"

"At twenty one?"

"Well, finding a girl, getting married in a few years or whatev'r. I mean, I mean, I have no life here!"

"Well Harry – "

"Four years!" he repeated, his eyes wide, his fingers in the air. "Draco, Draco you don't understand. I need to get out. It's not because I want to. I _need_ to get out of here! It's not fair!"

"He went missing," Snape said, sounding very authoritive, "and caused massive panic amongst the people still at the school. He had been restless ever since his most recent transformation, but we figured he wouldn't do anything stupid. Obviously we were wrong."

"Know wh'else, Draco?" Harry said, moving towards him and leaning into him. "No one even wanted to go with me!" he said, as if it was a great sin not to go somewhere with Harry Potter. "Not _one_ person!" Of course, leave it to Harry to be arrogant like that. He was an attention whore, wasn't he? Yes, yes he was. The past weeks spent with him had proved that. The little boy had wanted his attention; even the seventeen year old Harry had wanted his attention. (The whole 'hand in the pants' thing was now brought back to memory.) And even now, Harry was angry because no one went with him. Prat-y attention hound.

"Not even Ron wanted to go! 'No, Harry. Y'ave to stay, Harry. We have to be good, Harry. Wanna play chess, Harry? Wanna go outside, Harry? No, Harry! Bla, bla, bla, Harry. Don't _drink_, Harry! S'bad for you, Harry!' What does he know anyway?" Harry grumbled, crossing his arms. "Was jus' a little bit, anyway. I just drank a _tiny_ bit…" Draco rolled his eyes at the amount Harry indicated, bringing his thumb and index finger close together. _I'm sure_, he thought sarcastically.

"We found him in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. We're not sure how he got there, though." Harry giggled mischievously, and Severus glared at him.

"S'a secret!" Harry cried out, bringing a finger to his lips. And then he laughed. Severus glared harder at him, his hand twitching at his side.

"Yes, well, a secret I'll be sure to look into. No more sneaking out." Harry rolled his eyes. "And no more drinking." Harry put his thumb close to his index finger again and put it really close to Snape's face.

"Was jus' a _little_…" he said, his voice strained.

"Yes, well, as much as I don't believe you, there isn't much I can do about this, seeing as you're not really a student anymore."

"'M still a prisoner, though. Locked away, never to have a future – "

"Shut up," Snape said, rolling his eyes. Harry pouted, before sticking his tongue out at the older man. Childish.

"Careful, Sevvy. I might throw garlic at you. And you wouldn't want _that_, would you?" Harry then leaned in towards Draco's ear, as if he needed further explanation. "He's a voompore."

"A what?"

"A _voompore_!"

"Er…"

Harry sighed and brought his teeth onto Draco's neck, biting lightly. And drooling, Draco realised with disgust.

"Voompore," Harry said, muffled against Draco's skin.

"You mean _vampire_?" Draco asked, now understanding why Severus looked so drained.

"Right-o!" Harry said, removing his mouth from Draco's neck, but still just as close. "You're so smart, Drakey-akey-oh."

"Personal bubble space is being invaded."

"'Member what happened last time you said that?" Harry waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Draco pushed him away, causing the already unbalanced boy to fall to the fall and burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh, Drakey! I didn't think you were into this kind've thing. You don't seem like the sadistic type." More eyebrow waggling ensued.

"I'm going to bed now," Draco said, annoyed. Then he looked at Snape, who was glaring daggers at the raven haired male on the floor. "Tomorrow morning, I'll be here. We'll go see Dumbledore then?"

Snape turned to him and nodded. Draco nodded back.

"Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Mr. Malfoy."

"G'night, Harry," said Harry from the floor, giggling again. Draco sighed and left the room, his mind racing with what he'd say tomorrow.


	15. Confrontations

**A/N: **Okay, to clear something up, Harry will only be seventeen again once he takes the potion. Which will be in about twenty days, in fanfic time, of course. The amount of time I spend on the remaining ages is completely up to me. Heh. Anyway, this chapter isn't very humourous. More angsty, really. Sorry. Drama, drama. Anywho, enjoy anyway.

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns all. She is God. Obey her. (Unless she says to stop writing fanfiction. Then we revolt!)

* * *

Draco was nervous. It was as simple an emotion as that. How many times had he called Dumbledore stupid? How many times had he pondered aloud his doubts about the man knowing anything at all? How many times had he mockingly ridiculed his sanity? How many times had he bashed Albus Dumbledore with his words? Many, many times. And yet, in only moments, he'd be approaching the elderly man, asking for help and protection. Something didn't seem right about that. Draco just hoped he wasn't really as wise as his fan club stated, lest he find out just how badly his student had spoken of him. 

Side by side with Professor Snape, he walked silently towards the twin gargoyles guarding the office.

"Peppermint Patty Pleasure."

He felt like a child, now walking a step behind Snape, because the 'adults' needed to talk first, and then he'd plead his case. That's how Severus had put it. Draco was legally an adult, though, wasn't he? Seventeen. Yes. He was a full wizard now, free to do as he wished. Free to make this choice. But he hadn't proven himself an adult in anyone's eyes, apparently, because at Hogwarts, all students were equal. Er, _supposed_ to be equal.

Snape knocked only once on the door. They both heard the 'come in', though it wasn't as cheerful as it had been last time Draco had entered. That day seemed really long ago, when Harry had been five, scared, and begging to do household chores instead of having his family notified. Speaking of which – did Dumbledore ever notify Harry's guardians? If so, it hadn't made that big of a difference.

"Oh Severus. Mr. Malfoy. What a pleasure. As you can see, I'm just a tad busy at the moment. If you could please wait outside?"

"They've heard everything already," said the male sitting in the chair. He seemed subdued, almost… in pain? Ah, Draco thought. Hangover. "They might as well stay."

Harry had his hands in his lap and was staring at them. Was he… feeling guilty? Harry was too arrogant for that, Draco was sure. He was too full of himself for a feeling as petty as remorse. Wasn't he?

"Right then. Please, have a seat." Dumbledore waved his wand, and two overly comfortable and squashy chairs appeared in front of his desk. Draco took one, but Snape eyed them distastefully, before primly declining the offer, stating that he'd rather stand. "Very well, Severus," the white-bearded man said with a dull and… worried twinkle in his eye? Had the old man ever been worried about anything before? Draco's hadn't ever seen it, but it was definitely there now.

"Now Harry, back to what I was saying before… You can't run off like that. You could have gotten hurt or kidnapped, and no one would have known where you were. By the time we would have been alerted of trouble, you could have been long gone. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Professor."

"Next time, I'm sure if you had a chaperone, you'll be permitted to leave. You're an adult now, so that poses no problem."

"Alright. I'm sorry, Professor."

"You caused everyone quite a fright yesterday. Mr. Weasley was kind enough to tell us you weren't in your bed in the morning, and he was very concerned for you, let me tell you that. Quite a friend you've got there."

"I'm sorry for causing a disturbance, Professor."

"And the fact that you were drinking… Harry, no respectable wizard is an alcoholic. I hope it was a one time thing, because I'd be greatly disappointed in you if you took up the habit of intoxicating yourself."

"I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again."

Dumbledore seemed uneasy with the same answer constantly. All Draco knew was that, had he been in the chair, he would have spoken a lot more than that. For one, he would have complained about his head hurting and asked for the speech another time, or demand a Hangover Potion. All Harry did was sit there and try to hide his discomfort. And fail at hiding it. He was obviously hurting. Secondly, at twenty-one, you're an adult, aren't you? So the whole 'getting kidnapped' and 'we were all worried you were long gone' thing wasn't very logical. Harry knew what he was doing. And the chaperone? Well, Draco wasn't even going to comment on that, seeing as he'd probably get angry when he wasn't involved in the situation. The very statement about the chaperone contradicted itself! It shouldn't have posed a problem either way, seeing as Harry was an adult now.

"You're free to leave then, Harry. Please keep out of trouble."

"Yes, Professor."

With that said, Harry stood and walked out of the room. And now the annoyance with the Headmaster for being unfair with Harry creeped away, and the nerves inside him began to jitter again.

"Now Severus, Mr. Malfoy, what was it you wanted to see me about?"

Dumbledore's smile was back on his face, and he turned to look at Draco, giving him his full attention. And Draco saw the strangest thing happen to the other's face; Dumbledore's brows came together, and his eyes took an even deeper concerned air than they had with Harry. The Slytherin could only think of one thing: Dumbledore _knew_. Dumbledore could somehow see everything that had been magicked away, could see through his soul at the wounds and gapes Lucius had left there.

The logical Malfoy thing for him to have done was sit straighter, pretend it didn't bother him, but instead Draco slunk down into the comfort of the chair, hoping his bad posture would somehow shield him. The farther away he was from the Headmaster, the harder it would be to scrutinize him, no?

"Mr. Malfoy does not wish to join the ranks of the Dark Lord's Army, Headmaster," Snape drawled quite seriously. "As you may well guess, his new alliance will pose a harmful threat to himself and those around him. Lucius is a ruthless man."

Dumbledore nodded, but it didn't look like he was paying much attention to Snape's words. The look he was giving Draco made him want to cry, made him want to confess everything he'd ever done bad, to promise he'd be good forever and ever and never do anything harmful to anyone ever again. Of course, it would have been a lie, but Dumbledore's stare was just so… _intense_.

"Lemon drop?"

"Uhh…" He just couldn't look away! That blasted, retched old man wouldn't make him look away.

"Albus?" Snape said, his eyes darting from one face to another, his lips pursed.

"I'm listening, Severus."

"Right, well, Draco here would like to ally himself to us, to the cause of the Light."

"How nice, Severus."

Snape blinked. "Yes. Quite."

"Would you like a lemon drop, Severus?"

"No thank you, Headmaster. What I wish to discuss is young Draco's future."

"And what a lovely thing that is to discuss. Wouldn't you say, Severus?"

"Er, yes."

"So, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, smiling and leaning back in his chair. "What makes you want to join the side you've been taught to hate all your life?"

"Albus, he merely wishes to – "

"Please, Severus. Let the boy speak."

Mustering the strength to pull his mask on, a mask he hadn't used since Harry had been nine, he sat the tiniest bit straighter in his seat. "I've realised that killing people is wrong."

"Did you? Realised that just recently, hmm?"

Draco forced himself not to blush. "The Dark Lord only used to kill those who needed to be killed. Now he kills anyone who stands in his way. Children, even. And if I work for him, I'll have to kill as well. Killing a grown person in battle is one thing, but killing them in their sleep, killing their children is entirely different. I don't see myself killing any of them, sir."

"I see. So you do not wish to kill anyone?"

"No, sir."

"Not even Harry Potter?"

Draco paused, his mask slipping a tiny bit as he watched Dumbledore's smile and twinkling eyes, the tiniest bit of sincerity shining in his own grey hues.

"No, sir."

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, bringing his fingertips together. "I'm not sure we can trust you. How do I know you are sincere?"

He had imagined that question would be said. Before Snape could go on his defensive, Draco replied.

"I'll drink Veritaserum, if you'd like."

The shine in his eye became brighter, before dimming slightly.

"No. No, my dear boy. I think I can believe you."

Draco nodded.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, I must discuss this further with your professor. He shall speak to you at a later time to inform you of what will be done."

Draco nodded again and stood up from his seat.

"Thank you, Headmaster." He head for the door, and the knowledge that he was very lucky followed him. Lucky for being trusted so easily, for being protected so easily, for having made the switch before it was too late. It was late, but not _too_ late.

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy?" He turned around to stare at the old man who had addressed him. "You might not think so now, but your father does love you. There is much blackness in his heart, but for his family he would do anything and everything."

A hatred at those words began to gnaw at his stomach and crawl its way up into his throat. He had to leave before he started yelling at the man who was going to help him. That would have had very bad effects. A strained 'yes sir' left his lips, and he turned quickly, walking away as fast as he possibly could without technically running.

Obviously, Dumbledore _didn't_ know. Lucius Malfoy knew nothing of love. Lucius Malfoy didn't care about anything that wasn't his precious Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy didn't care if he was torturing a muggle or his son; it was all the same to him. That man didn't care that he had helped bring Draco to life, had raised him, had made him happy in the past… No. As soon as Draco had disappointed, Lucius had beat him senseless, not wanting to hear a word of plea. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't do anything _or_ everything for his family… he didn't like them enough. He was a slave to a man, no, a _creature_ he worshipped, and that was the first and only thing he loved. The Dark Lord's happiness was the only thing he cared about.

He wanted to run as soon as he got to the bottom of the spiral staircase, the sting in his eyes threatening to spill his emotions. But he couldn't; his body collided with someone, and Draco exploded.

"Get _out_ of my bloody _way_!" he screeched, shoving the person he had bumped into hard in the chest, venting, trying to transfer some of the anger he felt away from his own body.

"Hey, hey! Draco, you okay?"

"H-Harry?" Draco looked up, trembling with the disgust he was feeling towards his family. "Harry… Merlin, it's all your fault!" he cried, pushing the ravenet again, before stalking off.

"Isn't it always?" he heard him say with a sigh. But Draco wasn't in the mood for talking to anyone right now; he was feeling vulnerable and afraid and he really wanted to hit something with all his force.

"Shut up and go away!" he cried, staring at the floor and he continued walking away, his legs on the verge of breaking into a sprint.

"Hey, hey wait!" Harry jogged after him, finally stepping in front of the blond, causing Draco to bump into him again. Harry clutched his head and winced, but smiled. "Woah there. Wanted to talk to you."

"For once, listen to me. I am not in the mood."

"Ugh, could you say that a little quieter?"

"No!" Draco yelled, and Harry chuckled rather awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair.

"Spoiled git…" he murmured, shutting his eyes in apparent pain.

"Take a Hangover Potion," Draco snapped, shoving him again, desperate to get away.

"Then how will I learn my lesson?"

Draco stopped trying to get away and looked into the emerald orbs, confused. "Lesson?"

"Yeah. I really do feel bad for causing so much trouble. I needed to get away, but I didn't think everyone would panic so much," Harry shrugged. "So keeping my hangover is the punishment I've given myself. So I know not to sneak out for a drink again."

Draco watched him, wondering why anyone would punish _themselves. _It just didn't make sense. Harry laughed, and he put his arm around Draco's shoulder, almost affectionately. "Should've known that word was foreign to you."

Draco became immediately subdued. "It's not."

Harry didn't pull away, even though he had probably sensed Draco tense in his arms.

"Bad vacation, huh?"

"Not as bad as yours was," he muttered, trying to make himself feel better by thinking about just how bad Harry had it.

"Don't you like your folks?"

"Shut up," Draco said, still not moving. "They're better than yours. At least mine aren't dead."

"Low blow," Harry said, removing his arm from Draco's shoulders. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"You should."

"But I don't want to."

"Didn't we talk civilly yesterday?"

"You were drunk."

"Oh. So now that I'm _not_ drunk, you don't want to talk to me anymore? You're so messed up, Draco, it's not even funny."

"You know what? I don't need to take this from you," Draco sneered, walking off again. Harry sighed again, he heard it, and a part of Draco was glad for the attention Harry was giving him, glad that the Gryffindor kept chasing him. But how much longer would he chase after him if Draco kept snarling?

"Look, mate, I know something that'll make you feel better." Harry's voice, although quiet, was reassuring, so Draco stopped walking and huffed.

"What?"

Harry took out his wand and waved it, not murmuring a word. Wordless magic buzzed around them, and soon a faint blue glow left his wand and created, in Harry's waiting hand, what looked like tiny purple flowers stuck together. He handed it with a gentle smile towards the blond.

"What… is it?" Draco asked, not taking it at first. He was panicking. His father had already seen his flowers and hadn't given them back. Now Harry was giving him more? His stomach was a painful knot. He didn't have to be afraid anymore, he didn't have a reason to be afraid since he would never return to the man who had given him life. Yet, he still hesitated…

"A flower, silly," Harry said, his voice still low. Right, hangover. Only Harry could smile during something like that. "It's called Hyacinth."

"They're rather _small_ flowers," Draco remarked dryly, looking at Harry now instead of the little cups of violet that were bunched on the stem. Harry's smile widened, before he winced, but he continued nonetheless.

"It's a flower that symbolizes protection and happiness. And love, but that's not really important," Harry said, looking a tiny bit flustered and rolling his eyes, dismissing the last part. "I figured… you need more happiness. You always seem so… glum, when no one's looking."

Love. A flower of protection, of happiness, of _love_. Did that mean Harry loved him? Of course he did. Platonically. Because they had grown up together. At least, Harry had grown up with Draco around. And now he was practically his brother. Probably. Right. To Harry, Draco was the brother he'd never had, a close friend, a –

Soft lips pressed against his own, and Draco's eyes fluttered shut, his mind shutting up completely. Something strange seemed to flow through his body, a warm and comforting and safe feeling that radiated directly from Harry. He had kissed many people before, but it hadn't felt like this. It had never felt so… _right. _It was just a little pressure, just the feel of Harry so close, so intimate, yet completely innocent, that seemed to cause such a feeling, a feeling Draco couldn't name.

Harry was the one who pulled away, blushing, and smiling worriedly. "I, uh, wanted to apologize. For sticking my hand in your pants all those years ago." A delicate laugh left him. "Not very classy of me, I know."

Draco stared at him, still in the daze the kiss had left over him. "Yeah…"

"But don't feel too special," Harry murmured, smiling a bit broader. "S'not like you were my first kiss or anything."

Draco snapped out of it. His face became more serious than it had been before. Harry noticed this, and began chewing his lip.

"It's a joke. I mean, you really weren't my first kiss, that'd be sad seeing as I'm more than an adult now, but I didn't mean to insult you. I mean, just teasing, y'know? I… well, I thought about kissing you. You were my first choice, you know. But… I just didn't want to ruin our… thing. You know. But I figured now I could. At least I'd try, yeah? So… uhm… what do you… what do you think about... about this?"

A little alarm began blaring in Draco's head. This wasn't right. The Intimidating Slytherin was not supposed to get with the Golden Boy. He was switching sides, his own mind countered, but he knew that it didn't make this any less wrong. Draco couldn't want Harry to kiss him, and it should have been the same the other way around. He was already in danger being his friend, already in danger being on the Light side, but to kiss Harry Potter would only make matters worse. He took a step back, and Harry frowned.

"I mean, you kept the flowers, didn't you? Ever since I was little. And I figured you must have liked me a little from before the potion, right? Or else you would have hexed me. Or else you would have told me to go away."

"I did."

"Yeah, but… it's… I knew you didn't mean it."

The alarm wasn't dimming any; Draco was far from being comforted.

"You were my first friend, Draco. My best friend. I'd… I'd do anything for you."

And then, Draco said the first thing that came to mind, which was definitely not a good idea.

"My father beat me, you know."

Harry froze, his eyes unbelieving before turning concerned.

"Draco, oh God..." He reached out to hold the pale boy's hand, but the Slytherin took another step back.

"He beat me because I was your friend."

At this, Harry took a step back himself. "Wh-what?" His voice was a terrified whisper, his eyes struggling to believe, and Draco looked at the floor, then at the green eyes he was so accostumed to, after only a few weeks of being around them. He gently placed the flower back into Harry's hand and turned around.

"It's all your fault, Harry," Draco said darkly, before making his way towards the Head's quarters, to his dorm, where he promptly slept the day away.


	16. All on the Same Side

**A/N: **And cue Harry's 'Saving People Thing'. xD Mmkay, I'm losing the humour thing. Sad, I know. Well, I'm sure it'll come back eventually, yeah? I hope so. This chapter is just more drama. Lots'a yelling. I like dialogue - it's the funnest part to write. Oh, and just so you know, this is **not** SnapeDraco in any way, if you get that impression at the end. Snape isn't after Draco's arse, just so you know. 'Cause... he's old. xD Sorry, I had to put this in my Author's Notes now, because I didn't feel like writing _another_ A/N at the end of this chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing in the HP universe.

* * *

He awoke the next morning because someone was in his room. He expected Harry, because it was usually Harry's presence that woke him at Hogwarts, but a much taller, rather sinister looking man greeted him instead. 

"Mr. Malfoy, please get out of bed. It is almost one in the afternoon, and it is quite uncharacteristic of you to sleep in so late."

Draco sat up straight, almost mechanically, when he heard the authority in the voice. It was just an authority that came with being a teacher, but it was there nonetheless. He felt like a robot; during his Christmas Holidays, he had learned to respond to commands his father gave, for it had always been his father waking him, his father's usually gentle voice barking him into obedience. Draco silently cringed. How long before he'd be back to normal?

Because this definitely wasn't normal. Getting out of bed instantly, changing and brushing his hair, making his bed, not going to the bathroom until someone told him to (which Professor Snape obviously _wouldn't_, because, well, what did he know?), not making eye contact with the professor… How many mornings would he be frightened to look someone in the eye? He sighed, not wanting to give his old man the satisfaction of being affected, and sat back on his bed after getting changed, and tried with all his might to look into the black eyes of his professor.

Snape had watched him rather curiously. "New morning routine?" he asked.

Draco said nothing on that, opting to shake his head and change the subject. "You spoke with Dumbledore?"

"Yes. We discussed this thoroughly. Your first concern at the moment should be the protection issue with your father. I know Lucius very well; we became close when the Dark Lord first rose to power. He will find out about your new alliance before the end of term, I'm quite positive of that. This brings your safety into question."

Draco was paying very close attention to each word the older man articulated.

"He may make threats, Draco. He does not wish to lose his son, I'm sure. But know that he can never hurt you if you are here at Hogwarts. Understand? If he says he will come and drag you home by the ears, know that it is an empty lie. You are of age, so the decision on whether to stay or abandon your education is entirely yours."

The blond nodded, staring powerfully at the other. If Snape noticed this, he didn't show it.

"That settled, we spoke of what was to become of you in the summer, when your father would be able to get to you freely." Here Snape hesitated, searching for something in Draco's eyes and face. "Draco, there is a place. A place that has many charms and defences on it, and only those who know of its existence, precise location, and name, can find it."

The blond was surprisingly calm during all this. At least, outwardly. Inside, his body was flooding with relief and anxiety and fear. "Are you… And I can go there?"

"That decision, Draco, is not up to I or Dumbledore. You see, there is a group of people called…" There was the hesitancy again. "I'm sorry," he finally said, "but I will divulge that information when we are sure there is no way any Death Eater can get to you. I shall tell you all about this group when you are safe inside this house. But, as I was saying, the house is used by a group of people. The man who owned it left it to Dumbledore to do with as he wished. But that man is dead."

"So? Why wouldn't I be able to go?" Draco replied, his voice losing the calm. So what if this guy was dead? Surely that didn't matter. Now Dumbledore owned the place. Why was there so much damn hesitating?

"Because only the owner or the Secret Keeper can tell you where it is."

"But you know where it is!"

"Yes, but I'm not at liberties to tell you."

"Why the bleeding hell not?"

"Calm down, Draco," Severus said with the usual drawl in his voice. "And let me finish my explanation."

Draco crossed his arms and shut his mouth.

"I am physically incapable of telling you where it is. And I cannot say who the Secret Keeper of the home is either, only that they do not wish to tell you where it is if the current owner does not wish for you to go there."

"I thought you said the owner died."

"He did. But he left the house and all his possessions to his godson."

"So? Just tell this godson that I wish to stay there! That's it, end of story."

"Draco," Severus said warningly, and the Slytherin student shut up again. "The thing is, you seemed to have had a little spat with said godson yesterday."

"…"

Oh Merlin no. No, no, no, no, _no! _Why couldn't life be fair? Why couldn't something, just for once, go Draco's way? He had to stop expecting good things, he decided. His spirits only ended up crushed.

"There's no where else?"

"No place is as safe as this building, Draco. It would be impossible for anyone to get to you there."

"And, just to be clear, who owns it now?"

"Harry James Potter."

Draco groaned and leaned against the headboard, his 'thing' about authority slipping away. It was funny how just the mention of Harry Potter seemed to need his entire brain to function, making everything else less important. Talking about him made his father and his vacation and the Dark Lord slide to the back of his mind.

"And… how do you know we had a little spat yesterday?"

"He has spoken to me about it. Demanded information of me, as he has done to a few others. I saw him grilling Ms. Parkinson, for instance. I told him I knew nothing. There's also the fact that he's been making himself present your room every half hour. He's quite angry, you see, that no one has told him of your situation."

"Damn right!" as if on cue, Harry came storming into the room, looking tired and… a lot more mature than he had yesterday.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. How nice to see you. _Again_," Snape said, with sarcasm leaking out of his voice. "Unfortunately, I still need to speak with – "

"You could have told me, you prat!" Harry said angrily, approaching Draco, completely ignoring the other male in the room. "I could have helped!"

Draco shook his head, trying to disregard the new disturbance. He stared resolutely at the Potion's Master.

"He _beat_ you Draco. You could have told me before you left. I would have made you stay! I would have helped you! And you knew, didn't you? You knew that going to your stupid house would have meant a punishment. _Didn't you?_ With the letter and the Howler and… it all makes sense. It all fits together. You stupid, selfish _git!_"

"You're twenty-five now?"

"Shut up! Don't change the subject! Why? Why would you go back when you could have stayed? Tell me!"

"Only two transformations to go until the potion's ready, huh? Twenty days, exactly."

"Stop that! Talk to me! Tell me!"

"I'm trying to talk with Professor Snape, Harry. Go away and – "

"No! Screw you! I'm tired of this! We're going to talk, and you're going to tell me everything, from the beginning, and I'm going to listen, and I'm going to help."

"Well you can't help! It's over! It's done! It's in the past!"

"So what? It still happened! Do you know how I feel at this very moment? Do you know how I've felt for the past four years, Draco? Ever since you told me I've been hating myself, the guilt so high in me it _hurts_. It _is_ my fault, but it could have been avoided!"

"No, it couldn't have! He would have hurt me more had I stayed at Hogwarts, if I hadn't gone to him!"

"Not if you had told someone!"

"It couldn't be avoided!"

"Why not? Did you want it to happen, Draco? Is that it? You wanted to be punished for being my friend? For actually liking me?"

"Shut up!" Draco cried, snarling, standing on his bed so he could look down at the man who was screaming at him. "You don't know anything!"

"Fuck you! That's not my fault, is it? You can't blame me for not knowing!"

"I can blame you for whatever the hell I want! It's your fault! It's your goddamned fault everything's happening to me!"

Harry shoved the blond, making Draco bounce a little as he took a step back on the mattress.

"Don't you think I know that already?" Harry yelled, his lips just as much a snarl as Draco's, his green eyes so much older than Draco had ever seen them, glistening with anger and grief. "Don't you think I _realise_ it's all my fault? Don't you think I feel bad enough already?"

"No! You'll never feel bad enough! You'll never stop being blamed! _I hate you_!"

"Yeah? Well I hate you too, you stupid fuck! I wanted to help! I want to help you, you bastard! Let me help you!"

"Stay the hell away from me!" Draco cried, his throat starting to hurt him.

"Mr. Malfoy, you _are_ rather dense, aren't you?"

Draco stared incredulously at Snape, feeling borderline hysterical. Harry thought he was stupid, Snape thought he was stupid… He wanted to laugh until he fell to the floor in a heap. He wanted to pound the walls until his fists became bloody. He wanted to cry until there wasn't an ounce of water left in his body.

"I'm dense? You're calling me _dense_? Don't start with me, Professor! Don't go there!" he cried, pointing a finger at him. "I will not be made the stupid one in this situation! I won't – "

"You realise that you _do_ need his help, don't you, Mr. Malfoy?"

His finger fell to his side, as if it had been deflated. The knowledge that he did in fact need Harry's help hit him like a ton of bricks. "I…" Draco looked at Severus, then at Harry, scrutinizing his face. Harry was panting, looking as angry as his words sounded, and he pushed his glasses further up his nose as he glared at Draco. "I… I don't…" Draco was struggling internally.

"You don't _what_, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked, surprisingly calm seeing as how much yelling had just taken place. "Would you rather not have his help, then? Would you rather be left on your own this summer?"

"I… No!" Draco cried, worried now. "I don't… I want…" What did he want? He wanted Harry's help, but not Harry? "You're all against me!" he cried out, feeling cornered and trapped. "You're all… you're all against me! The whole lot of you! Everyone! You're all against me!"

"No, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape, his voice as close to soothing as it would ever get. "We are all on the same side."

And it was true, yet Draco was struggling with that concept. Something just hadn't registered. They weren't on the same side - they were all against him. He hated Harry. He had joined the Light. Harry needed to help him. Harry had kissed him. Harry wanted to help. But Draco didn't want his help. He needed it. He rejected it. Harry would save him from his father. Why was he fighting this so much? And why was it confusing as hell? It shouldn't have been.

He felt himself lean against the wall, then sink down into the pillows. His eyes fell on Harry. Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, and his own personal saviour, that's what he was. If Draco stopped arguing. If Draco accepted the help being offered to him. But why couldn't he accept it? Why was it so damned hard?

"Don't look at me like that," said Harry, his voice low yet still full of emotion. "Just because you look so pitiful doesn't mean I'm gonna go easy on you." Draco continued staring at the raven-haired man, until the look he was receiving softened. It instantly became hard again. "Damn it, Draco! Stop that! You're a fucking git! Don't you see that I could have helped? Even at thirteen I could have helped! I'm sure I could have! But you're such a damned Slytherin. Trying to fix everything by screaming at a little boy? You know I haven't really forgotten about that, right? That morning you completely lost your mind and began screaming at me? I hated you. I hated you so god damned much!"

Draco's chin began to quiver. Why was this complicated? Harry wanted to help. Just wanted to help. But Draco couldn't let him. _Why?_

"But you came back to me. Said I could… I could yell at you all I wanted so long as I… as I…"

Harry's look softened once more. "Yeah. Because… because… Ugh, you wouldn't understand." Draco said nothing, feeling his grey eyes swarm with unshed tears, and Harry took a step closer to the bed. "Just let me help you. It'll be so much easier if you… if you just let me in."

"M-my father…" Draco whispered, as if that was the answer to everything. And suddenly, he knew why this was so hard, why he just couldn't accept it. If something went wrong, if Draco got caught, he wasn't sure what would happen to him. A tear fell, and then another, and another, and soon they were streaming down his face. Draco brought his knees up and clutched them tightly, burying his face in them. He felt so childish, crying like that, for both older men to see, but he didn't care.

Draco had known Harry, which resulted in blood loss, bruises, cuts, and pain so unimaginable he wouldn't have been able to describe it with words, only with a scream. If something happened, if Draco were to be found some time in the future, he would be Crucio-ed. He would be forced to the Dark Lord, to the Death Eaters, all of which would take their turns hurting him. His mother would be disappointed, would probably be the first to curse him. They'd denounce him as their child, he was sure. And while his closest family and friends would hit him and kick him and starve him and burn him, his father would watch and smile.

A choked sob left his pale lips, and he rubbed his knees against his eyelids, feeling the tears seep through his pyjama pants. "H-he'll hurt me," he spluttered to himself. "I don't want t-to be around you. H-he'll hurt me…" The sobs came harder, and Draco was gasping for breath. "It hurt so bad. It hurt so _bad_… and he never stopped. Didn't care… Didn't care that I was his son… that I was crying." He hiccupped, his voice get louder. "And Mum just let him. Just let him do it to me. P-probably watched. And Harry… it hurt so _bad_…" He was gagging on his tears and spit combined, panting and struggling for breath, not in the mood of acting dignified.

Why had he changed sides? Why couldn't he have just become a Death Eater, a zombie to the Dark Lord? It would have been better than this, than the punishment that was sure to come.

He'd be protected here. On the side of the Light, he'd be safe from all of them. Harry, Dumbledore, Snape, they'd all protect him.

But why should they? Draco hadn't ever proved he was truly good. He hadn't ever given them a reason to protect him. Especially Harry.

They wanted to protect him, though. Wasn't that enough?

No. It was suspicious. It couldn't possibly be long term.

He didn't want to be hidden long term, though, did he? Forever in hiding?

Lucius would be after him, no doubt. He _had_ to hide forever.

Or until the bastard died.

If he didn't hide, he would be hurt. If he hid, he'd be a prisoner forever.

Draco was so confused, so absorbed in his thoughts and misery, that he didn't notice a body pressed against his, or arms around him. He didn't notice when his face was pressed into something other than his knees, didn't notice the hand in his hair. His thoughts whisked him away to another world, a world where only words floated around, causing his head to hurt and his mind to fry.

If he stepped out of this building for air, Death Eaters could catch him. The Dark Lord would surely be looking: Draco was friends with Harry Potter. Draco was emotionally attached to Harry Potter. Him switching sides was bound to convey that message. And the Dark Lord, the man who had thought him a follower-in-training, would be more uncaring and brutal in punishments than his father had. So the safest thing to have done would have been to become a Death Eater, no?

Did he have time to change his mind? Was there a pledge of allegiance he needed to take for the Light side? He hadn't taken any such thing; maybe there was still time to go back to his father, to beg for forgiveness.

That was the only logical thing to do.

Yesterday, the only logical thing to have done was to go to Dumbledore and change sides in this upcoming war. That was the safest, wasn't it? Because everyone on that side was protected, said Pansy. Because that was where you went when you didn't want to die.

When Draco finally took in his surroundings again, he realised his tears had stopped, but his gasping and hiccupping hadn't. He snuggled into the body he was pressed against, and faintly registered eyes on him. He looked up, not at the person who was holding him, but at the dark eyes that stared at him.

"Professor," he whispered, mouthing the words more than sounding them. "I don't know what to do."

Snape glared at him, and Draco recoiled, pressing further into who he now knew was Harry.

Then Snape was glaring at something other than him, higher than him, and Draco was able to guess that the angry look was now placed on Harry. Harry tightened his hold on him, but Draco barely felt it. All he could see was the angered look in Severus' eye, and then he watched the Potion's Master walk out of his room.

Why was Snape angry with him?


	17. Frolic in the Snow

**A/N:** Clarification: Harry will be seventeen again and have all his normal memories back (as well as these ones) once the potion Snape is brewing is ready for him to take, which will be on the day he turns 33. Mmkay, so, this chapter? I wanted fluffiness, so I wrote it. I'm cool like that. This means we only get to see why Snape was angry and who he was angry in the next chapter. This chapter shows the HarryDraco relationship. This is as fluffy as HarryDraco is ever going to be, in my mind. xD

**Disclaimer: **Gah. I still don't own anything. Every night I wish I did, but… I don't.

* * *

Snape was avoiding him. He never answered his door when Draco knocked on it at night, when dinner was over. And just forget about having a chat with him after class; for the past few days now, ever since the professor had witnessed the blond break down, he had been keeping students for detention right after the lesson. Longbottom first. Then Weasley. Then Longbottom again. He even asked Vince and Greg to stay back once so he could go over their grades with each of them. It was a ploy if there ever was one. 

It bothered Draco, because really, they hadn't finished talking. Harry had interrupted. Sure, they had spoken about the rest of the year, and then summer, but what about when autumn came around? Where would he go then? Still at this building Snape had told him about? And was he expected to do anything for Dumbledore or Harry, seeing as he was switching sides? What did the Light side consist of, anyway? People who just didn't like the Dark Lord? Were they made of only Aurors? Did people who _weren't_ Aurors fight Death Eaters? Was he supposed to fight his parents? Then came the most important question of all: did he want this?

But his questions went unanswered. The Head of Slytherin House always found a way to evade him.

"Ready to go?"

And then there was Harry. This was Draco's third time trying to pretend, and he was sure Harry was feeling awkward because of it. He could see it in the green eyes that Harry wanted to talk. But Draco wouldn't; he was sneaky in steering their conversations away from touchy subjects, such as his holidays and his parents, and Harry would always change subject with him. Ever since Draco had cried, the older male was acting as if Draco was made of glass.

Draco didn't complain about that. It had many benefits, didn't it? Harry treated him like he was about to break any second, he _always_ asked if he was okay, they always did things _he_ wanted… Yep, the Slytherin wasn't sure he'd ever get annoyed of this life. He knew that some people would have found it irritating in his position, but they were the strange ones. If he could pretend that he couldn't see Harry's yearning to help, all would be fine. The blond deserved some happiness, didn't he? Yes, he surely did. And if Harry wanted to provide his happiness to him on a silver platter, he wouldn't be the one to complain. So long as Harry didn't mention the fact that Draco had cried or had been beaten, the blond had nothing against the new development in their relationship.

Their relationship _had_ changed. In a way. It didn't seem very right on a few levels. Draco seemed just peachy the day after Harry had confronted him. Even smiled. Was he faking it? Yeah, mostly. Did it look like he was ignoring what had happened? Yep. He didn't want to look like he had sobbed his eyes out like a little girl to the rest of the world. And part of him wasn't faking it, was just letting all worries slip away because Harry was there. So, it wasn't faking, it was pretending. A very large difference, in Draco's opinion. If he didn't pretend, he'd be depressed, and a depressed teenager was not an attractive teenager. Harry only asked gentle questions when he looked absorbed with sadness, and although simple prods were appreciated, prods that included anger and guilt on Harry's part were not. So, the less sad he looked, the less Harry would question.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked, dressed in a heavy cloak. He had a scarf and a pair of mittens in his hand, and he slowly made his way towards the blond, who was rummaging through his closet.

"Just about how much of a pedophile you are," Draco muttered, not even having to think of it as he pulled out his fur hat from a high shelf with a grunt. "I'm ready to go now, Harry."

"Good. I'm glad you decided to come along."

"Hmm."

It was cold outside. More than cold, really. He was sure it was warmer in the Arctic Circle. There was a blanket of snow covering everything, making nothing distinguishable. Draco would have gotten lost in the courtyard if he hadn't lived here nine months a year for six years in the past. It was impossible to walk through without getting soaked, which was precisely why the Slytherin was glaring at the much older male. Eight years difference really was a lot, but Draco could pretend it didn't bother him that much.

"You alright there, Draco?"

"I hate snow. I hate the cold. This sucks."

"That's the spirit! Just a few more steps until we arrive at the tree. That should shelter us."

"From what, exactly?"

"Why, the evil snowflakes you hate so much, of course."

"Oh, ha ha. You're a riot."

"I know."

Draco rolled his eyes and trudged through the snow like the brave male he was. It wasn't so bad pretending. It was nice, really. It felt nice to forget. What didn't feel nice was the frigid air that whipped against his face.

"Having fun yet?"

"No."

Thwack. A snowball hit his shoulder.

"Now?"

"Harry, don't you _dare_ – "

Another hit his stomach.

"Now?"

"Stop that!"

A snowball landed on his head, and Draco was fuming. "You are so immature. You're older than me, so act it!"

"That's no fun," Harry replied, beaming innocently. "It's not my fault I'm bigger than you. You're just too runty."

"I am _not_ runty!" Draco cried indignantly. "I'm _petit_."

Harry rolled his eyes, lazily bending down to pick up some of the fluffy whiteness. He began fiddling with it, rolling it in his hands. "_Petit_ my arse. You're a runt."

"I'm attractively small. I am not a runt."

"Attractively small? Do you hear yourself talk?"

"Just because I don't need to shave every five hours – "

"Have you even hit puberty yet?"

"You're the one who keeps kissing me. Like I said… pedophile."

Draco gasped as Harry landed a snowball on his neck and chin. It began to slip through his scarf and hood, making gooseflesh rise on his body.

"You prick!" he cried angrily, taking deep breaths. It was so bloody _icy_. "What makes you think you have a right to do that, you arsehole?" Merlin, even his guts were freezing now, he was _sure_ of it. So cold. So… _cold_…

"What are you gonna do about it?" Harry had his hands on his hips and raised a brow, challenging the other with a daring smile. Draco just crossed his arms and sat on the floor, his backside becoming just as wet as his feet, legs, and now neck was.

"I'm going to sit here and contemplate how much this entire expedition sucks complete and total fecal matter."

"That's disgusting."

"I don't care."

"You're a moody prat."

"I don't care about that either."

"You're so cute, you know that?"

"I'm not cute, Harry. I'm devilishly handsome. And cold."

"No, you're adorable." Harry was much too perky for Draco to like, so he merely continued glaring. He could feel the snow around him begin to melt with the heat his anger emitted.

"No, I'm sexy. And freezing my bits off! Honestly, I think I can actually feel my balls taking refuge inside my body."

"Aw, is ickle-Drakey cold?"

"I just said I was." Why was Harry so infuriating? And why did he put up with it constantly? He had put up with the hand in his pants when the other was seventeen, had put up with their first kiss, had put up with the other kisses Harry had given him at twenty-five, and he was putting up with this. Draco was just too nice a person.

"Does ickle-Drakey wanna be warm? Does he wanna be warm?" Harry knelt before the other and began wagging his finger around Draco's face.

"Take that finger away from me, or I _swear_ to Merlin I'm going to bite it off," he snarled. "I am a human being, not a _dog_, so I'd appreciate if you spoke to me with the respect I deserve."

"Methinks you're cranky."

"Get away from me."

"Do you need a hug?"

"Get a_way_ from me."

But Harry Potter wasn't one to listen, was he? He approached the other, even when there was no longer any space between them, laughing as he shoved Draco backwards into the snow. It was terrible: the snow was finding ways into his back, on his face, through his cloak, and Harry just continued pressing into him and laughing.

"Geroff me! You're insane! This snow is numbing my body! Geroff!" Draco flailed his arms and kicked his legs, but to no avail. "Harry! Harry get off! Seriously, get off!"

"Why? You cold?"

"YES! Get the hell off of me!"

Harry wiggled his body, pinning Draco more firmly, grinning madly at him.

"Not until you answer this simple question."

"Then ask your stupid question! This isn't funny! It's not fun in any way and I want to go inside _now!_"

"Do you love me?"

"That's the stupidest question in the history of the world! Get _off!"_

"Not until you say you love me!"

"Ah, Harry," Draco's hood fell off, and he was struggling even more desperately. He was laughing, the weight on his chest causing spurts of giggles to leave him, but he didn't _want_ to laugh. It was involuntary. His voice was whiney, matching his complaints perfectly. This wasn't fair! "Oh Merlin, get off. Get _off!_ I can't breathe!"

"Do you love me?"

"Gah, Harry, it's in my back. So much snow. Guh, Harry, get off."

"Do you _love_ me?"

"Harry! Harry, please. _Please!_ This is cruel! I'm so cold. It burns my neck! It's so cold it _burns_!"

"Then tell me you love me."

"No! Get off!"

"Say it!"

"Never!"

"Say it… or else."

"Or else what?" Draco asked, mustering all the dignity he had left. Which was when he saw Harry pick up some snow with one hand and undo the buttons of his cloak with another. "Oh no. Oh Harry, no. Please! For the love of all that's holy – "

"Say you love me!"

"Gyah! No! You'll never make me!"

"Fine." Draco's eyes were wide, his laughter desperate. The air was being squeezed out of him by Harry's body, but that was the least of his problems.

"Harry! Harry, be nice! I'm so cold. So cold…"

"It's simple. Just say you love me."

"But…"

His shirt was being opened. Just the wind was making his skin red and cold, and the snow in Harry's hand was inching closer and closer…

"Say it…" Harry said, his eyes still glistening mischievously through his fogged glasses. A snowflake fell from the pile in the gloved hand, and the sound Draco emitted couldn't be described as a simple scream. One might have thought a banshee was on the loose.

"_I love you!_" he screeched, desperate to get up. A choked sound left him as his head shook from side to side. This was sadistically vicious.

Harry beamed proudly and sat straight atop Draco.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes! Really! Get off me! Get away from me you sick bastard!"

"Aw, Draco. I love you, too."

"You've… you've had your fun. Now get off."

"I honestly do love you."

"Harry, my chest is exposed. I'm going to catch my death. Get off."

"So much."

"_Please_ get off? Harry? Pneumonia! Do you want me to die, Harry? Harry, I'm really uncomfortable. I'm wet and chilled and I think my nipples have frost bite."

"What? Were you saying something? Oh, Draco! Aren't you cold?"

"I hate you."

"Here, I have something that will make you _all better_."

Snow was crunching against his body, and Draco let out another banshee shriek, this one more animalistic than before. Harry was giggling like a madman as he spread the snow wherever he could reach, actually undoing more of Draco's clothing.

"HARRY POTTER, YOU'RE A BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU?! I'M COLD AND FROZEN AND YOU ARE GOING TO DIE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH BY MY HANDS! AHH! GEROFF! STOP THIS NOW! I HATE YOU! GO AWAY! IT'S SO FUCKING COLD!"

"I love you, Drakey." Harry let out another chuckle before letting up and clapping his hands together. "My work here is done."

"YOU'LL REGRET THIS! MARK MY WORDS, I'LL KILL YOU, YOU GIT! YOU DICKHEAD!"

"Hey, want to make a snowman?"

Draco sat up the instant Harry was off of him, his eyes wide and just as cold as his body was, and he was shaking as the air frosted him. He wrapped his shirt and robe and cloak around himself, his fingers too numb to button anything. He gave Harry a deadly glare, which the other didn't notice, seeing as he was busy making a little mound of snow on the ground.

With a snarl and a completely serious battle cry, Draco got up and charged at the other. Harry turned around, shocked at the sound, and was knocked over with the force that the Slytherin put upon him.

Now pinning Harry to the ground, Draco sneered. "You are going to pay." Harry didn't look as scared as he should have. In fact, he looked rather comfortable laying on the evil thing people called snow. Draco began shoving and hitting, causing 'oomphs' and 'guhs' and laughter to leave the other's pink lips. Laughter! How dare that monster of a guy laugh? Draco began shaking Harry by the shoulders and yelling incoherently at him. He wasn't sure what he was saying, but he managed to hear the words 'fuck', 'cold', 'snow', and 'Gryffindork' come out of his mouth. It was all a blur, and before he realised it had happened, he was pinned on his back in the snow again, Harry towering over him and grinning.

The cold was seeping in once more.

"Did you let it all out, Draco?"

"No I did _not_!" he yelled, flailing his arms. "I hope you die, you arse-face!"

"Do you really?"

"YES!"

Harry leaned his face down, and the thought that Harry was about to kiss him was disgusting.

"Keep your lips away, Mister!"

"Why?" Harry asked, looking both amused and curious.

"One, I'm terribly angry with you, and two, it's not right for people to kiss in the cold."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"My nose is leaking, my cheeks and entire face is red, and my lips are overly coated in saliva. And probably snot. My eyes are only half opened, my cheeks feel pinched from the snow, and it's the most unromantic gesture you could ever perform for me."

Harry tilted his head, taking into consideration all Draco had just said. After a thoughtful silence, he said, "But that's why I want to kiss you."

Draco felt his cheeks heat up, but fortunately, he was able to make it look like he was angry instead of embarrassed at Harry's words. "You're a disgusting bloke, you know that?"

Harry leaned down and pressed his lips against Draco softly, running his tongue along them. Draco, still thinking this act was foul, kissed back, refusing to open his mouth. The raven-haired male pulled away and smiled down.

"Mm, snot and saliva," he said, smiling in a dreamy fashion.

"Ew. You're nasty. You're completely off your rocker, you know that?"

Harry laughed and kissed Draco again, silencing any protest the blond may have made.

When they pulled away from each other (er, well, Harry pulled away, seeing as Draco was on the ground so couldn't move much) they were silent for a few minutes. This was nice. Draco could live with this, even in the cold. He wasn't so frosty anymore, really, though he was still a tad moody. Which wasn't good seeing as the next question caused his moodiness to ignite.

"Draco? Is this real?"

For some reason, it angered the blond to be asked such a thing.

"What do you mean 'is this real'?" he snapped. Harry lifted his head and looked at him with a worried expression.

"I mean, you're not acting like I think you should be."

"And how's that?"

"You broke down the other day, and I'm trying to make you feel better, but it just seems… too easy."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're acting… too normal. Draco, your dad – "

"Is none of your concern!" he growled, sitting up, causing Harry to shift. The older male sighed and held himself up by his hands.

"It's not right for you to – "

"I don't want to talk about this, Harry. You know I don't – "

"I just think it's bad for you to be repressing what you really feel – "

"I'm not repressing _anything_ – "

"So why can't we talk about this?"

"Because I don't _want_ to talk about this!"

"Have you told Snape about what happened? Have you told _anyone?_"

"I've told the people who need to know – "

"You haven't told me anything! Don't I deserve to know?"

"You know exactly what the others do. My father beat me because I knew you, because I didn't hurt you."

"What…? Because you didn't hurt me?"

Draco stood, ignoring Harry's gentle tugging to sit back down. "I'm going back inside."

"Wait. What do you mean by that? What do you mean 'because I didn't hurt you'? What are you playing at?"

"You know what? I don't think that's any of your business."

"Excuse me? I think it has the world to do with me, thankyouverymuch."

"Well it's not up to you to decide what I tell you, is it?"

Draco was feeling the intense cold even more now that Harry wasn't on top of him. He managed to button his shirt and robe as he walked. Unfortunately, the other caught up and grabbed his shoulder, turning him around brusquely.

"Tell me, Draco."

"Why? You don't _need _to know. You don't need to know anything."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"No you won't."

"Don't you trust me? You know you can tell me, Draco. You know I'll try to make it better!"

"Stop saying that! Just because you're fucking _Harry Potter_ does not mean you can make everything better with the world."

"I don't want to make everything better with the world. I want to make everything better with _you_."

Draco snorted and pulled his shoulder out of Harry's grasp. "Corny lines don't work with me, Potter."

"So he hurt you because you didn't hurt me? Why would he do that?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Did you just ask that?" Harry had to jog to keep up with Draco's fast trudging towards the castle. The wind was making him feel more wet than before, blowing against him and causing him to shiver harder than he already was. "Don't be stupid and stop beating around the bush! I want to know!"

"Why do you want to know now? You didn't want to know yesterday. You didn't want to know the day before."

"Yes I did! I just wanted to make you happy. I thought you'd bring it up yourself when you were ready!"

"I'm not ready yet."

"Well I don't care anymore."

Harry took a firm hold of Draco's hand and began marching into the castle, up the moving staircases. All the while, Draco was pulling and making a fuss.

"Let go! I don't see how kidnapping me will accomplish anything, you twit! Let go of me!" It would have been easier to pull his hand away if Harry's fingers weren't laced with his own. So, instead of trying to tear it away, he squeezed his fingers, hoping to hurt Harry, but he only managed to hurt himself instead.

"Stop that," Harry murmured sternly. Draco didn't stop grunting. He was literally dragged, his feet stubbornly not taking any steps down the hall. "We're going to talk."

"You suck."

"I'm doing this for your own good."

"I'm not going to talk."

"I'll make you."

"I hate you."

"I don't care."

"With all my heart, I do. I _despise _you."

"Heavy, heaving hippogriffs holler, 'Hey, hello'." The portrait swung open and Draco was shoved inside with a snarl on his lips.

The other stepped in after him and pushed him into a seat. Someone watched them in the hall, spotted their conflict, their dilemma, and heard the last words of their exchange. This student smirked proudly. Another owl to Lucius, and before they knew it, everything would be back to normal.

In the Head's Station, Harry glared hard at the squirming and fussy blond.

"Now, tell me _everything_."


	18. The Truth

**A/N:** Two updates in one day? Wow. I'm really into this story. xD I'm actually trying to finish it before school starts up again, seeing as I usually work on this late at night. Usually. I hope I can make it. Oh, but don't expect two updates in one day after this. That's probably never going to happen again. xD

**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything. JK Rowling does.

* * *

"Stop lying." 

"I'm not."

"This isn't something to joke about, Draco. I want to know the truth!"

"Have I ever lied to you, Harry?"

"This isn't _funny!_"

"I know it isn't. I couldn't stop crying. Days went on when I refused to get out of my bed. That's why my father hit me."

"Stop that!"

"I'm completely serious, Harry."

"So your telling me that your father beat you to a pulp because you didn't want to get out of bed, because you felt like dying, because he took away your stuffed bear, because you had named it Harry Potter, and thus refused to hurt it?"

"That's exactly right."

"That's bullshit."

"That's the truth."

"Why don't you trust me?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm your friend, that's why!"

"Hmph."

"And because I'm your boyfriend."

"I never agreed to that."

"You never said no to it, either!"

"That's not my problem, is it?"

"So you're breaking up with me?"

"We were never together."

"Yes, we were!"

"When? When were we ever 'together'? Give me an example of one time we were on a date, of one time we were a couple."

"Uh, how about every time I kissed you?"

"I've been kissed by a lot of people."

"We were just on a date!"

"What? I've never been on a date with you."

"And what do you call what we did outside, hmm?"

"I call it a traumatizing experience with way too much snow."

"Oh, come _on._ You're such a baby."

"Fuck you."

"He took away your stuffed bear? Surely you can lie better than that."

"Would you like me to give you another excuse?"

"Only if this excuse is the real one!"

"You're wasting your time, then."

"Okay, okay," Harry was pacing the room. Draco's muscles felt tense and unused. He had been sitting in the same position for the past forty-five minutes, feeding Harry a story that really had nothing to do with anything. "Let's say that by some freak chance, I believed this load of dung. Why would he want you to hurt something named Harry Potter?"

"He hates stuffed bears. And he never liked the name 'Harry', either. My father is quite a strange man – "

"UGH! Why do I even bother with you?"

Draco shrugged. He really wished he were anywhere but here, watching Harry pace in front of him, trying to sort it out. His grey eyes could practically see the gears turning in the other's thick head. "Hell if I know."

"I just… I don't understand…"

"Do you have to understand?"

"Yes," Harry hissed, glaring at the Slytherin for the umpteenth time. "I do."

Draco rolled his eyes and stood up. "I'm leaving now. I need to speak to Snape."

"Why?" the other asked, suspicion in his voice.

"Because I never finished talking to him, that's why! Remember? You stormed into my room and started screaming your head off?"

Harry glared but resumed his pacing, his hands deep in his pockets. The cloaks and scarves had been discarded long ago, and Draco was sure he looked terrible. He didn't have a mirror to fix his hair once his hat had been removed, but now was not the time to be fretting about his looks. He had to be away from Harry before the other realised the connection between Draco's family and the evil wizard that was after him. It would have taken the First Harry about point five seconds to figure it out, but _this _Harry only knew what Ron had told him about He Who Must Not Be Named.

"Look, Dray, can't you just… can't you just tell me?"

"No." The portrait swung open and Draco walked out, stretching his legs. As he walked down the stairs, he noticed Ron come up.

"Hey Malfoy?"

"What do you want from me?" Draco muttered darkly.

"I need to talk to Harry. He up in 'Mione's room?"

Draco glared at the smiling redhead. "Why the fuck would I know?"

Ron's smile wavered, but he continued up the steps. So what if Draco _did_ know? He wasn't in the mood to talk to the Weasel. He was _never_ in the mood to talk to the Weasel.

It took longer than he would have liked, but he was finally in the dungeons. Maybe today he'd have luck with Snape. He hoped so. He needed to distract himself from the guilt that was starting to build inside him. Harry didn't know about the Dark Lord. Harry didn't know that Draco was associated with him. Harry didn't know that Draco's father beat him because he hadn't hurt the Boy Who Lived. It wasn't his fault that Harry didn't know, but the guilt was there anyway. Damned stupid emotions.

He was walking through the stone hallways, making his way towards Snape's private quarters, when he saw the professor coming from the opposite direction. The blond smirked.

"Professor! A word, if you will."

Snape looked at him, narrowed his eyes, and began walking faster towards the door. Draco, too, began to walk faster. It was like a race, a challenge, to get to the door first. Draco knew that if he didn't get there on time, the elder male would not open the door for him. As it was, they arrived at the same time, Draco still smirking, but his professor's face completely emotionless. They stood staring at each other for a while, until Draco spoke again.

"I'd like to speak to you, sir."

"I'm rather busy," the other drawled, opening his door, his black eyes never leaving the blond.

"That's fine. It'll only take a moment."

And there was that glare again. Draco wished he knew what that was about. He'd find out now, he decided. He wasn't sure when his next meeting with this man would be, so it was best to get all questions out of the way in this meeting. He slipped into the room before Snape did and sat himself in a chair by the desk.

"What do you wish to speak to me about, Mr. Malfoy?"

The greasy haired male walked behind his desk and sat down in his office chair, his eyes holding a creepy sort of anger, but the rest of his body seemed completely calm and void of anything.

"Er, sir?"

"What?"

"Why are you so angry with me?"

Snape raised a brow. "Is it not obvious?"

Draco took a moment to think about it. No, no it was _not_ obvious. There was a reason, then? An _actual_ reason that other people would have found obvious in his place? That was… weird.

"_I_ don't think it's obvious."

"Would you like to know, then, why I am so disappointed in you, Mr. Malfoy?"

The tone took an icy edge, one Draco had never heard directed at himself. Did he really want to know? Would he have been better off without knowing? Probably, but he nodded his head anyway.

"I am doing all I can to help you. I have practically _begged_ the Headmaster to help you. Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince him that you were worthy of help? He may have seemed to trust you when you spoke with him, but Albus Dumbledore is a cunning man. It took long hours of talk and explanations and pleading for him to even _consider_ this. He said that the best we could do for you was place you in the home of another family, the Weasleys or Longbottoms, or even myself, to ensure that you were safe from Death Eaters. He did not want you to die or get the Mark, but he wasn't keen on protecting you in the safest of ways."

He wasn't talking to Draco. Not really. He was staring above his head, speaking and remembering at the same time. The blond was so interested in what was being said that he forgot to comment on the Weasley/Longbottom thing.

"This building that is being offered to you? It is probably the second safest building in all of Europe, Hogwarts being the first. And you have no idea how lucky you are to have permission to seek refuge there. You are terribly, terribly lucky, Mr. Malfoy, but you are too spoiled to realise that. People are risking their lives every day, but all you needed to do was stay in this building, unhurt. But you want to go back to the Death Eaters."

"Professor," Draco decided to cut in. "I'm not – "

"You don't care, do you? No. You hesitated. You are unsure, you are unconfident, and it angers me to no end."

"I don't – "

"I didn't even need to enter your mind to see the conflict inside you that day you let your emotions leak out of you. You are a selfish child. Indeed, which side would be more beneficial to you?"

"It's not my fault! I just want to – "

Snape would have none of that. All of Draco's words were cut off. "What is being offered to you took much coaxing, took much undignifying words on my part. And this is how you thank me? By wanting to go back?"

"Father – "

"Will not harm you in this place. But that matters not to the Great Draco Malfoy, am I correct? Of course, the heir of the Malfoys knows nothing about honour, does he? It isn't even about principles to you, is it? You don't care for who you are joining. You don't care for the cause. You'd probably kill at will, if it meant you'd be safe. Is that why you came to me in the first place, Mr. Malfoy? It wasn't because you didn't want to kill Mr. Potter. It was because you knew that you would, if the Dark Lord asked it of you, wasn't it?"

Draco didn't know what was going on. He had come here to discuss his future, and now he was being chastised by Professor Snape, whom he respected, who was a father figure to him. It was terrible. He could feel a sting creep into his soul and eyes.

"Death Eaters or protection? A hard decision, I'm sure. You come to me, ask for my help, and I had never been more proud of you. But in your mind, in your confusion that night, the thought of getting the Mark was a nice one, was it not? The thought of joining the ranks of the Dark Lord made you itch to become a Death Eater in hopes of being spared, didn't it? So, Mr. Malfoy, before I waste any more time with you, before I continue trying to save you from a life of servitude, tell me: whose side are you on? Whose side are you _really_ on? Who would you die for, when it came down to it? The Dark Lord… or Harry Potter?"

Draco's eyes were wide and watery as he stared at the still calm looking professor. Just his eyes were intense; only his eyes showed any emotion at all. Draco couldn't tear his own away from them.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Wh-what about you?" Draco managed to splutter. "You'd want to die for the... the bloke you hate so much?"

"I'd be willing to sacrifice my life for his cause, yes. I would be willing to die knowing that I had helped, knowing that I had stopped the Dark Master's tyranny in some way, in any way at all."

Draco's mouth was shut and his nostrils began flaring with the deep breaths he was taking. He felt unnaturally frightened, as if he was on display to some scientist. He was being questioned, and these answers would determine so much of his future.

"The whole… the whole point of me coming to you is that… is that I don't _want_ to die…"

"Who would you fight for, then? Who would you protect?"

Draco's own eyes narrowed, and a determined expression came onto his face. "Me," he answered. "I'd want to protect _myself_."

Snape looked disgusted, and Draco felt ashamed. He refused to show it, though. In the end, that's what this was all about, wasn't it? Draco Malfoy's survival.

Everything was tense and silent. Draco's eyes threatened to spill, but his deep breaths kept his emotions in check. Severus wasn't even looking at him, which made him more uneasy. He had said the wrong thing, but Snape would have known if he'd lied. Finally, it was just too much for him to take. The silence was causing his insides to squirm and a dread to rise and mingle with the guilt already there.

"Professor?"

"We've nothing left to discuss, Mr. Malfoy. Please leave my room."

Draco swallowed, blinked, but did nothing else for a long while. Snape was trying to collect himself, the disgust on his face ebbing away at a slow pace. Draco watched, wondering what to do.

"Don't I get to plead my case?" he asked, his voice firm and loud as he tried to sound certain of himself. Snape's eyes connected with his, and he sneered, but tilted his head slightly. Draco took that as a signal to speak.

"I'm seventeen years old. I have my whole life ahead of me. How can you be mad that I want to protect myself? How can you think low of me when I just want to live to see tomorrow? I just want to grow up and be _normal_. I don't want any of this! I don't want to be on either side!"

"This is a war, Mr. Malfoy. You aren't the only one who has had to make sacrifices."

"How many people as young as I have fought for a cause? Hmm? I don't want to fight, I don't want to protect, and I just don't want to! I only want to be with my mum and dad. I just want to grow up!"

"Most of your Slytherin peers have already taken the Mark. Most of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors are ready to fight by their families for what they believe is right. Many Ravenclaws are now deciding where their loyalties lie. You aren't the first to think this way. It's normal. What makes you a coward is that you refuse to choose. Become a Death Eater, Draco. Do it. Or join the Light. Fight for what you believe in. It doesn't matter whose side you're on, so long as you are on a side."

"I don't want to choose!"

"No one cares what you do or do not want. Don't you understand? This is a _war._ Once school is over, you will see for yourself just how the world is affected by these battles, by these killings, by this war. It is not to be taken lightly."

"But sir, _I don't want to fight_!"

"Imagine this, if you will, Mr. Malfoy." Snape was snarling now, standing up and placing his hands on his desk, practically towering over the blond. Never had Draco been so afraid of his Potion's Master. "After the year is over, you find an apartment. You live there for a few months, and one day, you need to go to the store. On your way a battle breaks out on the streets. Aurors and Death Eaters fight each other. Now pay close attention, because this is the important part. In all that confusion, when no one recognises you, what do you think will happen? The Aurors will assume you are a Death Eater, and the Death Eaters will assume you are an Auror. Do you know what happens then?"

A cold sweat was forming on his brow. Draco knew. He hadn't ever thought of it that way before.

"You need back up, Draco! You need allies! You cannot be alone when the world is in complete mayhem. You need to have support of others, or you'll die. It is as plain as that."

Snape sat back down and began to compose his face, his eyes off the blond once more. Draco was trembling in his seat, his body covered in gooseflesh that had nothing to do with the cold of the dungeons.

Everything he had said, all that had been spoken on his part… it was true. Snape was right. And Draco hadn't thought of any of that. Snape had been disappointed that he had done all that grovelling towards Dumbledore for Draco, who might end up rejecting his help. And one thing led to another in the conversation that had just taken place, and now the Slytherin teen was scared and even more unsure than he had ever been.

There was banging at the door, and Draco jumped from his seat, startled. He almost expected a battle between Aurors and Death Eaters to be taking place. Snape got up and walked towards it, but it was blown open before he reached it.

"Mr. Potter, be sure that Dumbledore will be notified of that outrageous stunt. What is it you want?" Harry was panting, and his eyes glinting madly as they raked the room. "Draco. Where the fuck is he? Tell me now!" Green eyes locked on the blond and he stomped inside. He looked like he was going to hit something, and Draco made himself as small as he could in his chair.

A parchment was thrust into his face, and Draco feared Harry was going to smash it against his nose.

"What the_ fuck_ is this, Draco?" Harry spat angrily. "I can't believe this. I can't believe you'd fucking do this to me. I should hit you. I should slam my fists into your head over and over again." Draco tried to slink farther into the chair, fear etched everywhere on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Severus cried, approaching them with his wand drawn. Harry turned around, growled, and then turned back to Draco.

And then someone else stepped through the door, smirking smugly.

"Yes, Draco. What _is_ the meaning of this?"


	19. Role Reversal

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait. Things came up that made my computer time limited, so... sorry. And, I don't quite like this chapter but I'm posting it anyway. Too lazy to restart now that it's finished. And for all those that guessed who the spy was: ... xD Fine then! I guess it was kinda obvious... Boo. Ah well. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing Harry Potter related.

* * *

" '_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I thought you had corrupted my son. I thought you had turned him against his family and his values. I was wrong. You never had any control over him. He was always better than you. I am simply writing to inform you that my Draco is stronger than you may ever hope to become, and whatever brainwashing spell you thought he was under was a sham. It is time you know the truth about him, Mr. Potter. I now know all of my son's plots, all of which include your demise, and I am confident in his abilities, which is the reason I do not mind telling you of such. He was never your friend. He never liked you. There is nothing stronger than my son's will power. It is stronger than I myself would have imagined. Did you know that he suffered intense punishment from me just so you would trust him? He is very determined on killing you. Have a nice day._

_-- Lucius A. Malfoy' "_

When Snape was through reading the letter, he didn't look like he had read a word, his mask very apparent. Harry, on the other hand, was seething. Draco had never seen him so angry, but Harry's anger didn't seem important at the moment. What was going on?

"_Well?_" Harry cried, his face red and blotchy with rage. Grey eyes pleaded with his green, but Harry didn't seem at all fazed, and, if anything, Draco's pathetic look made him more frustrated.

"H-Harry… I have… I have no idea what that's about…"

"He's lying, Harry. Can't you see it in his face?"

Breathing was a difficult task. Harry's glare was so wild and feral that Draco was sure a repeat of his Christmas holidays was going to happen, this green-eyed male substituting for his father. Snape stepped in front of Draco and glared at the messy-haired man. "Mr. Potter, take a step back and take deep breaths. Please calm yourself."

"Calm myself?" he said, and for a moment, Draco thought he would laugh. "You want me to _calm down_? He wants to kill me! I didn't believe the letter at first… how could I? But then… but then he explained everything to me. Explained what it was like before I turned five."

"A-and you believe him?" Draco squeaked loudly.

"_I'M HIS BEST FRIEND!!_" the other male roared. "I'm the one he should have believed in the first place!"

Draco stared at Ronald Weasley, just as afraid of him as he was of Harry. Ron looked smug and fierce, not at all sad about the new revelations, but heated with Draco, glaring as the vulnerable blond sat there in his seat, a sick smile on his lips. Realisation began to dawn on him, and it was a horrible, terrible feeling that gnawed at his stomach. "Y-you…" Draco said, his voice soft and unsure. "You. It's… It's _you_…" His voice was trembling, but became louder as he realised exactly what the other had done. "You! You did it! You told my father!"

Harry's already green eyes flashed dangerously and he leaned over the chair the shaky teenager was sitting on. "He told your father?" he repeated, a bit of spittle landing on the Slytherin. "What was there to tell, hmm? You said you didn't know what this was about."

"No, I don't! Harry, I swear to you – "

"You lied!" Harry screamed. "You were my friend! You took my goddamned flowers! Are you happy, Draco? Are you happy, _Malfoy?_ Did you get the information you needed out of me?"

"Harry," Draco murmured desperately. "Harry, no. No, you don't understand, Harry. Harry, _Weasley_ – "

"Shut up! I don't want to hear your excuses! No wonder you didn't want to tell me what was wrong! No wonder you didn't want my help! You've been against me this whole time! All this time I got close to you, and you let me, and now you want to _kill me! _You two faced son of a _bitch_!"

"Harry, I honestly don't know what's going on!" Draco squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered as strong hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him from the chair. He couldn't look at the other, wasn't able to. He refused to see the once handsome green eyes diluted with fury.

"You don't know what's going on?!" Harry began shaking him violently. "This isn't fair! I offered to help! I would have done anything for you! _Anything! _Are you happy? Do you have all you need now?! When are you going to do it, huh, Draco? When are you going to kill me? A slow and painful death by your hands, yeah? _Yeah?_ Isn't that what you told me, you fucking bitch? _Isn't that what you told me, you goddamned fucker_?"

The shaking of his shoulders stopped, but the trembling of his body didn't. Why had Harry stopped yelling? Why had he stopped shaking him? He was sure his shoulders would be bruised after this. He just wished he understood. He just wanted to understand what was going on. Ronald Weasley. Something about Ron. And his father. Lucius had written a letter… and Harry. Oh Merlin, what was happening? Why did Draco feel like it was all his fault?

"Snape, you hexed him! You'll go to jail for this!" When his eyes finally blinked open, Draco gasped as he saw the snarling face of Harry Potter inches from his own. He was about to let out a scream, when he realised it was frozen. Harry couldn't move. Looking around, he realized both Snape and Weasley had their wands drawn, Snape's pointing at Harry and Ron's now pointed at his professor. Draco's eyes once again found the frozen face of the male he had just been questioned by, the male he had, only two hours ago, been outside in the snow with. He was terrified and desperate.

"Harry," he whispered, not sure if petrified people could hear. "Harry, I don't want to kill you. I don't want you do die." The look didn't soften (had he expected it to?) and another whimper left him. The look Harry was giving him… so much pain was there, so much pain caused and needing to be caused both shone through his glasses.

"Don't talk to him!" Ron cried from across the room. "He's had enough of your lies. We've all had enough of your lies, Ferret! It's about time you left us all alone!"

"I didn't… I didn't do anything!" Draco cried back at him, unable to snarl like he wanted to. "It was you! You did this! You're my father's spy! You – "

"SHUT UP!" Ron bellowed taking a step towards him, but Snape stood in the way, looking down at him with the same expressionless look he'd had since the letter was read.

"Mr. Weasley, I'm afraid this will need to be reported to Dumbledore straight away."

"I didn't do anything," Ron said, all smugness wiped off his face. "He did! Report _him_ to Dumbledore. You read the letter! Now unfreeze Harry so we can both pummel him!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for such a rude statement. And another fifty points for your behaviour. Now please calm yourself as we settle this. Do you understand me?"

Ron looked away from him, his freckled face snarling, and Snape's eyes flashed. "I asked you if you understood!"

"I understand," the redhead grumbled.

"Good," said Snape, who turned towards the frozen man and the teenager he was clutching. He approached them and pried Harry's fingers off of Draco's shoulders, who fell on his feet once he was free.

"Mr. Potter shall remain frozen until the explanation is given."

"That's not – "

"He is in no state of mind to be around my student, Mr. Weasley, and student safety is my first priority at the moment."

Draco stared as Ron opened his mouth to answer back, but Snape's mouth opened quicker. "Another fifty points from Gryffindor for wanting to talk back to a professor. I'll hear no more from you unless I have asked you a question, understand? I'm in no mood for anyone's foolish behaviour." Ron nodded, but his glare would have made Draco whimper at a time like this, had it been directed at him. As it was, it was directed towards Snape.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," Snape turned towards the blond, and the blond stared up at him meekly. "Remember that question about where your loyalties lie? Now would be a good time to give me your answer."

What? Was he serious? He didn't want to be on anyone's side now! Both sides wanted to hurt him! Just looking at Harry made him want to cry. Thinking of his father made him want to cry. Couldn't he just live in a hut somewhere in the Forbidden Forest? No, not the Forbidden Forest… that place made him want to cry, too.

"I… I don't…"

"Mr. Malfoy, _please_. It is very important. I must contact people, but I need to know who to contact first. It all depends on your choice."

He didn't want to make a decision now! He wanted to think everything through. He felt the pressure of his unsaid words crushing his lungs. Harry hated him. His father hated him. Snape was disappointed. Dumbledore didn't trust him. The Dark Lord was angry with him. What choices were available?

"I-I can't choose. I can't choose _now._ Professor – "

"Mr. Malfoy – "

"No! I refuse to choose! I refuse, do you hear me? You can't make me choose!"

"Do _not_ test my patience, Mr. Malfoy!"

"I won't do it! Everyone thinks I'm the bad guy! Everyone! You do, Harry does, Father does… No! I refuse it! I don't want to be a part of _anything!_"

"That is enough. You will choose _right now_, Draco! I may be your last chance at this, and I do not wish to wait forever."

"Malfoy?"

Something in Draco snapped. Weasley dared talk to him at a time like this? Weasley dared to try and be calm? Weasley _dared_ turn Harry against him? Oh no. None of this flew well by Draco.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice low now, a very disturbing contrast from the yelling of before. He slowly drew his wand out, slowly stepped towards the redhead, slowly breathed in and out, slowly planned his torture… Weasley didn't seem at all as confident as he had when he had first burst in. It must have been the crazy shine in Draco's eyes that made him rethink his words. "Because of you, my father beat me. Because of you, I will never be the same around my family again. Because of you, I _have_ no family. Because of you, Harry wants to hurt me. You've ruined my future. I have nothing now. _Nothing_." Ron took a step back, his own wand now pointed at Draco, but Draco was already far past the point of no return. "No one wants me. I belong _nowhere_. So tell me, why shouldn't I hurt you? Why do you deserve a future when you've taken mine?"

"H-Harry was my friend first. He's my best friend." Ron stood a bit straighter, glaring hard at Draco. His own words seemed to have re-sparked his animosity towards the blond. "You stole him from me! You made everything difficult! I wanted to give my friend the childhood he deserved, and you… You turned him against me!"

"_I did nothing!_" Draco cried, his eyes watery and his face twisted into a loathsome snarl.

"He was my friend first! You had no right to make him like you so much! It's not right! I'm fixing things!"

"Fixing things?" He was so close now, so close to the Weasel, that, if he cared to, he could count the freckles on his face, or the beads of sweat on his forehead. "_You ruined my life!"_ He jabbed his wand into Ron's throat, and barely heard the cry of 'Professor!' that left the other's throat. His blood was on fire, boiling him into madness.

"Draco, that is enough!"

"No! No, it's not enough! You've ruined any plan I might have had! I have no where to go, and it's all your fault!" he screamed, his wand digging into the freckled skin, and he hoped with all his might that it was hurting him.

Something pulled him back, and he felt frustrated. He shouldn't have spoken so much. He should have just hacked away with his hexes and curses, with his fists and legs. Now Snape wouldn't allow him to hurt the other. Now Weasley's safety was to be taken into consideration. Damn it all to sodding hell!

"Calm _down!_ All of you!" Snape said, his deep voice ringing through his office. Ron cleared his throat, before, very slowly and quietly, speaking.

"I'm not evil, Malfoy. I'm not like you."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scroll, the Malfoy crest sealing it. "This wouldn't have happened if you had left Harry alone. Stick with your own kind. Leave us the _fuck_ alone, and I'll do the same. Truce?"

Truce? _Truce?_ Was he _kidding_? Draco practically growled, his breath shallow as he panted, but before he could do anything, Snape snatched the scroll from Ron's hands and held it to Draco. Draco took it, but he didn't open it. How could he? How could he possibly do anything but catch his breath at the moment?

"It is not a truce yet, Mr. Weasley, not until all the information is revealed. But know that your sentiment is appreciated." Ronald nodded, gave Draco a glare, then moved his blue eyes to his frozen friend. "Will you be releasing him?"

"Not yet. I believe Mr. Malfoy has some explaining to do in his presence."

Ron's face turned red. "What? No! I just told him to leave us alone! Don't – "

"I am the authority here, Mr. Weasley," the professor snapped, "So I shall be the one who gives instructions." He turned to Draco, ignoring the scathing look he was receiving. "Mr. Malfoy, as I'm sure Mr. Potter does not wish to be in your presence anymore after this, please say whatever you think needs being said."

With his eyes on Harry, Draco felt like it was just he and the frozen body in the room. What should he say? His mind was a total blank. Should he apologize for dragging Harry into his problems? No, Harry _was_ his problem. Should he tell him how everything was Weasley's fault? He had probably already heard that. And he might not appreciate it, anyway. Should he tell him that he actually liked the flowers? Why should Harry care about that now?

Should he tell him he loved him? The thought shocked the blond, but he contemplated it. No. Harry wouldn't believe him. And Draco wasn't sure it was the complete truth. Did he love Harry? This definitely was _not_ the time to think of that.

He walked, chewing on the inside of his cheek, to Harry's front, so he could look him in the eye. He drew back a little, having forgotten just how angry he looked. He knew what to say. He'd say the truth. He'd tell Harry what he had wanted to know.

"He hit me because I hung around you," he started, staring at Harry's shoes. "My family… is against you in this war. They are proud supporters of the Dark Lord, the wizard who wants you dead. They'd do anything to see you down and incapacitated. So, when they heard that I hadn't hurt you when you were younger, when I had the chance, my parents got angry." Did he chance looking at Harry's face? No. He didn't dare look him in the eye. He wasn't brave enough, even with the other frozen. "I don't know why I didn't hurt you. I certainly wasn't nice with you, but… I guess you grew on me. I guess I'm just weak. I was too cowardly to do anything, I guess. And… And I shouldn't blame you. I know I have, many times, but… but you didn't do anything. Not really. You were just… there. It was me, me who chose not to hurt you. You… you didn't… Please don't be mad, Harry. I was raised to serve the Dark Master, but I didn't even think of him when you were around. I just thought… just of you. And now… I'm scared. Because… because He knows an awful lot of dark spells, Harry. More than Father knows. You'd… you'd know that, if you were back to normal. But… you're not."

What was left to say? Nothing. Nothing at all. Even what he was saying now didn't matter. Weasley had probably filled him in on their past relationship.

"I'm sorry you liked me so much. And m'sorry that you gave me the flowers. M'sorry that I was your first friend. And... and m'sorry that you got so attached. M'sorry that you hate me. M'sorry…"

He could hear his own voice in his head: 'If you say that _one more time_ I'm going to cut your tongue off and make you swallow it whole'. It wasn't funny. He felt so small and insignificant. He felt like he _needed_ to apologize profusely. He wanted desperately for Harry to like him again.

The roles were apparently reversed. No longer was Harry the frightened little boy; Draco had taken his place. And no longer was Draco the one who was enraged and annoyed; Harry had taken his place.

Was this how Harry felt when he had screamed at him at the age of five? And Harry had come begging for forgiveness, for friendship, even after he had been an asshole. Was this the equivalent?

"If you have nothing more to discuss, Mr. Malfoy, please vacate my office while I speak to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley alone."

Draco nodded absently, lost in his philosophical thoughts. He stuffed the scroll into his pocket, and left Snape, Weasley, Harry, and the office behind.


	20. A Place to Belong

**A/N: **Not much to say about this chapter. Short compared to others. Sorry 'bout that. But, uh... Drama, drama, drama. Oh, and, school starting uber soon. That means even longer times to update. Sorry 'bout that, too.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, or any other of JK's characters. Nor do I own the song 'Happy Birthday'.

* * *

Today had been Harry's birthday. Or, at least, it had been the day that represented it. He wasn't sure who had planned it. Perhaps it had been Pansy, who had first thought of it weeks ago, the day of Harry's very first transformation. Perhaps it had been Hermione, who had enjoyed the idea and now put it in action, craving some normalcy around her. Perhaps it had been that bastard, Ronald Weasley, for Merlin knew what reason. All Draco was completely certain of was this: he had not been invited. 

What nerve they had, having a party right in his own dormitory. Now everyone would know where the Head's dorms were. How was that smart? But no one seemed to care. No one seemed to mind. He glared at his ceiling. Since when was there a Hogwarts event that he wasn't welcomed in? When had Draco Malfoy ever been excluded? It wasn't fair. Everything was coming apart. Something as small as not being handed an invitation to a stupid party he could live without was pissing him off greatly. It just added to the list of places he didn't belong.

His future was destroyed, and yet the sun was still shining in the sky, and the people in his common room were partying. He couldn't go back to his father for obvious reasons, and now that Harry thought he was a monster who was out to kill him, he wouldn't be able to go to that protected house-building-thinger. He was fucked. Royally fucked. And Harry was murderous towards him, which wasn't a plus. It was the opposite of a plus, really, because now he had no one to talk to. Pansy hadn't visited in a _long_ time, Merlin knew why. Granger had kept away from him since Potter had spoken to Weasley and Snape alone, and he really wasn't in the mood of talking to his head of house after he had said all those un-dignifying things. He still couldn't believe he had broken down and apologized. Harry wasn't that important to him. All he needed Harry for was protection, and now that he didn't want to help anymore, Draco was screwed. That was all there was to it.

No. Of course there was more to it. He had apologized to Harry. _Apologized! _Draco was weak and desperate, the breakdown was proof of that. It was worse than when he had cried. He had apologized. For Harry liking him, no doubt. 'I'm sorry you liked me so much'. If only he could turn back time… He would have hurt Weasley, that was for sure. He would have told Harry the truth more forcefully, not like a scared little girl. Or maybe he'd turn time back farther than that day, make it so that he never brought the little one to Dumbledore's office. A sigh left his lips as he twiddled the stem of the Hyacinth. It was the only flower he had left. The little purple cups flew left and right as he spun in between his thumb and finger. He watched it blur, listening to the commotion downstairs.

Pansy was there, he could hear her shrill voice. And Granger and Weasley were there. Gryffindors and Slytherins and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws… Hell, even Vince and Greg were there. He knew that because he saw them both peek their heads into his room briefly when they had first entered, probably unused to being without a boss, before returning to the party. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were invited, and not him! What the hell kind of world did they live in?

A world where Harry didn't talk to him, where everyone avoided him, and where no future was being offered. A world where Draco Malfoy stopped being important. A world where Draco, the male who got everything he ever wanted, was denied something essential.

"Happy birthday to you."

The song began, and Draco found himself bitterly humming along.

"Happy birthday to you!"

He glared at the ceiling, hearing the laughter.

"Happy birthday, dear Harry…"

One of the tiny flowers broke off the stem as he twirled it faster and faster.

"Happy birthday to _you!_"

And everyone was happy. Everyone was cheering. Harry was twenty-nine, hurray. What fun. He continued glaring at the space above him, his grey eyes narrowed. Everything sucked.

How could things get any worse?

Downstairs, the music that had been blasting before died down, as did all the laughter. There practically wasn't any noise at all.

Why the _bloody fuck_ had he asked that question?

"I don't mean to intrude on your celebration, but where is my son?"

Draco sat up so fast that he was sure he'd cracked his neck. His eyes were wide and his breath quickened. He was supposed to be safe at Hogwarts. How was this safe? Snape had assured him safety in this school. Where was the safety now? _Where was it_? He immediately looked at the flower in his hand. Oh no. Bloody hell. He had to hide it, before it was taken away from him.

"I'm sure you all know him. Is he here?"

He was on his knees, panicking, fumbling with the flower. Alarm was washing over him, drowning him, and he decided to just the flower under his mattress, not caring if all the little purple petals fell off. That was the least of his problems. His father was here! There was no time to fret over flowers!

It was Harry's voice that floated from downstairs and into his ears.

"He's up there, on the staircase to your left."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. And, ah, the banners tell me it is your birthday? Congratulations. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with Draco."

That traitorous bastard! Harry should have redirected him, should have told him that Draco had moved somewhere else or that he'd dropped out or _something_. He stared at the door in his room, his heart racing wildly, his mind anything but calm, waiting for the door to open and for the figure of his father to show.

And what he saw shocked him.

There was his father, all elegant robes and straight posture, looking at him with relieved grey eyes and a smiling face.

"Oh, my little dragon." The smile made Draco scoot against the headboard of the bed. There was a reassuring air around the blond man, none of the usual intimidation there, and it was freaking the _hell_ out of his son.

"Father," Draco greeted, his voice low and unsure. Lucius let out a breath, still smiling softly, and shutting the door with a click. The music started again, yet the blond teenager couldn't hear it, all his attention on the older man who looked so much like him. No, it was the other way around. It was Draco who looked like Lucius. It was Draco who was the clone.

"I am so proud of you, Draco."

Draco remained silent, eyeing his father with fear and suspicion. Lucius' smile wavered, and soon it was completely gone, a frown in its place.

"What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong?_" Draco repeated, blinking and furrowing his brows together. He couldn't understand what was going on. Why had Lucius visited him? What had he done wrong now? Oh no... had he heard about Draco wanting to switch sides? Merlin, he didn't want to anymore! Damn it! But his father couldn't be here for that, could he? He didn't seem angry...

"You… aren't glad to see me?"

Draco blinked again. He was sure he was missing some crucial information. Lucius took another step forward, then another, until he was close enough to sit on the bed. Which was exactly what he did. Still dreadfully confused, Draco pushed his back against the headboard some more.

"My little dragon…" Lucius' voice was soft, a voice he hadn't used on the boy since he had been seven, a voice Draco had almost forgotten about. Were his eyes… watering? Something was happening, and Draco wished he knew what that something was. A shaking hand lightly rubbed at Draco's arm, but he flinched away, unable to stand his father's touch. He was afraid. The older Malfoy looked at his son, obviously confused himself. "You aren't happy."

"I suppose you'll want to take me home when school's over."

The smallest of smiles returned to Lucius' face. "Yes."

"I suppose you'll want things to go back to normal."

Lucius nodded ever so slightly. "Yes."

"I suppose I'm to get the Mark now."

Lucius pulled back. "When you are ready for it."

Draco looked down, glaring at his lap. "I suppose you think I'll forget everything you did to me."

"My Draco…" Draco was pulled into his father's arms and froze, not daring to move a muscle or breathe the tiniest bit. What was his father doing? "My little dragon, you should have told me. You didn't have to live through that. I shouldn't have done that, there was no reason to, what with your excellent plan. I was so scared to lose you, Draco. I was afraid you'd not come back to us."

The need for air became to strong, so the teenager took a big gulp, his eyes wide as he stared at nothing. "Wh-what?"

"Your mother was terribly angry with me. But please understand, Draco, I had to do it. Had I not, the Dark Lord would have punished you instead, and he would have made us watch. It would have been far worse than anything I did to you. He might have... he might have killed you."

Draco looked up, not having mustered enough courage to glare at the man who had helped conceive him. Instead, he stared blankly. He wanted to question his words, to call the man filthy names, to berate him, but his throat was dry with dread. This had to be some kind of joke. Soon his father would be strangling him. But… there were wet drops on his head; he could feel them. His father? Crying? That just wasn't possible. The man was incapable of human emotion.

"And I was so afraid, my little one. So afraid that because of what I'd done, you'd never come home. I couldn't sleep for nights on end, afraid that I'd lost my only son."

The young blond finally opened his mouth to speak, the other's words having brought voice to him. "You have."

Lucius looked at his son, blinking, puzzled, not noticing the few tears that were still descending his cheeks. "I have what?" The boy pulled out of his father's grasp, much to the other man's bewilderment. He stood and backed away from the empty-handed person on the bed.

"You've lost your son. I'm not _yours_, Father. You can't do with me as you wish."

"But Draco, my little dragon, all is forgiven. Everything. Your friendship with Potter is justified and your plan is well on its way. He's told me so."

"Who's 'he'?"

"The Weasley boy, that's who. Draco, I know everything now. You don't need to pretend. This is the part of the plan where you push him away? And that's what you've done. You two are no longer friends, and now the second part of your plan can – "

"There's no second part. There wasn't even a first part!"

Lucius stood from the bed. "Draco…?"

"I don't… I don't understand. There's no… there's no plan… there's nothing… Why…? Why are you here?"

"The Weasley boy told me everything."

"What did he tell you?"

"Everything, Draco. So you can come home now."

Come home now. Draco could go home. The world around him seemed to have frozen for a few seconds as the words were echoed in his head. He could go home.

"And your mother misses you. She wishes you would write more often. We were so afraid, my little dragon, so afraid that you wanted no part of us anymore. And yet… it was your idea." A laugh left the older wizard, an affectionate smile on his usually cold face. "It was your idea. My brave, brave little boy. The Dark Lord is lucky to have a soldier like you."

Okay… what? "He… He isn't angry with me?"

"Of course not, son. How could he be?"

Draco could think of a few reasons. This wasn't making an ounce of sense. "How could he be? Maybe because… because I've betrayed Him? Because I've betrayed you all."

"And you did it so _wondrously. _I was certain you were a traitor."

"Uhh…"

Maybe Draco had lost his mind. Yes, that was it. The pressures of having no where to go had finally cracked him. He was insane, and this was a hallucination. That would have made more sense than this being real. Maybe he was at St. Mungo's right now! Maybe this never happened, and it was all a dream. Yeah, a painful and very realistic dream. How great would that have been?

"Draco, why are you pinching yourself?"

"I'm trying to wake up, Father."

"Wake up?"

"Because you see, at this very moment? I thought I heard you say that I wasn't a traitor, and that I was welcome home in the summer. And everyone, once I tell them, will know how preposterous that is. Of course, I'm not sure who I'll tell…"

"You aren't dreaming, my little one. Of course you are welcome home. Why would you think otherwise?"

Had this been a drawing, Draco might have been depicted with giant circles as eyes and a jaw that dropped to the floor. As it was, he was completely real, not at all sketched or comical, his mouth hanging open just a bit, his grey eyes wide.

"Draco? Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm… I'm welcome home…"

Lucius smiled once more, nodding and smiling slightly, getting up and approaching his son for a second time.

"And you won't hurt me?"

"Of course not. You are my heir. I only hurt you because… Oh, I'm so dreadfully sorry. But you were so brave, taking it like you did. It was for your plan, and I can see that clearly now. You did what was best to secure your future."

Draco's breath hitched. "My future…" he repeated wistfully.

"Yes. Your future. And what a bright one it shall be. Only the best for my little one, yes? You will only get the best."

"The best…"

The young blond stood in the room, picturing his future. He had one now, according to his father. His father wouldn't hurt him anymore, he had said so himself. And he wasn't dreaming, he had pinched his arm. Draco had a future. He had a place to go. This summer he'd go home, to his room, and so what if he was scarred? So what if he would be terrified of entering the dungeons at Malfoy Manner? He'd be protected. Protected from the Dark Lord, because no one thought he was a traitor. And for the moment, Draco couldn't care that he didn't know why he wasn't a traitor anymore. His common sense had left him when his father had walked in the room.

"Do you… do you promise? That I won't be hurt?"

"I promise."

He smiled, still standing completely still as his father hugged him. He had a place to go now. Someone wanted him. The same person who had beat him and called him filthy names in his own home… but no. That was over. Father had promised. Right. Draco smiled, not caring if he had lost it or not anymore.

"Father?" he asked tentatively, after a very long silence. The man pulled away from the hug, still keeping a firm hold of his son's shoulders as he looked at him.

"Yes, my little dragon?"

"What did Weasley say the second part of my plan was?" That would be good to know, of course, so he could actually put it into play. With this plan over and done with, everything could go back to normal, he was sure. He'd become a Death Eater, but so what? There were worse things, and Draco knew that now. Like being alone.

Lucius looked a tad confused, before smiling and pulling Draco to his chest tightly.

"You are to kill Harry Potter."


	21. How to Kill Harry Potter

**A/N: **I'm _really_ sorry it took so long. But I have a lot of homework as of late, so it's really hard for me to continue. Plus, this chapter ended up being difficult to write. It wouldn't write itself. Yes, I know that sounds weird, but I had to restart a few times. Well, twice, but it's still a lot! Anyway, I hope you enjoy. And I'll try to update faster, what with, you know, the way I ended this and all.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter. No money is being made off of this.

* * *

_You are to kill Harry Potter_.

_Welcome home._

_I honestly do love you. _

_Would you like to know, then, why I am so disappointed in you, Mr. Malfoy?_

_Your father won't be able to hurt you under Dumbledore's protection, under Harry's protection._

_It's a flower that symbolizes protection and happiness. And love, but that's not really important._

_You don't deserve my blood. _

_M'sorry._

_I promise. _

_I think you're pretty._

_This is war, Mr. Malfoy._

_Will you think of me when you're home?_

_I'm not evil, Malfoy._

_In all that confusion, when no one recognises you, what do you think will happen?_

_Are you a prince?_

_My brave, brave little boy._

_Just let me help you._

_My son will never be a murderer._

_Draco Lucien Malfoy, wait up! _

_Your friendship with Potter is justified._

_Say you love me!_

_Kill Harry Potter. _

He couldn't breathe. He was suffocating, asphyxiating. His mouth was open, wide open, and he was gasping, inhaling, but no oxygen came. The walls were closing in tighter; his lungs ached for air, stung him with lack of the sweet substance.

Arms flailed, cries left his lips, and he was too disoriented to realise screaming would make things worse. All he knew was that his insides were constricting and that something was pushing down on him and that nothing in the world was fair. What the fuck did everyone have against him? Why the bloody hell couldn't he live normally?

Thrashing his head from side to side did nothing; the weight on his face was constant. A dizzy swirl swept his head, making him feel more nauseated than before. A sharp twist and pierce made itself known in his chest. His lungs couldn't handle much more of this. All of his insides were contracting in his being, trying to suck out the last bits of air from his veins. And without the energy to be completely infuriated, all he could think of was how annoyed he was that he wasn't dying in a poetic or charming way. His death would mean nothing.

**&&&&**

"He was moaning in his sleep. 'Kill Harry Potter! Kill Harry Potter!'. I couldn't just do nothing about it!"

"Are you _insane_?"

"I'm going to have to agree with Harry. You've completely lost it, Ron."

"I'm sure you've all heard it! It can't have been the first time he says it."

"That's not the point."

"How the _hell_ can you say that when he's _trying to kill you_?"

"I've taken precautions. I'm a big boy, Ron, I can handle myself."

"Precautions? Are you kidding me? You sleep in the same bloody room as him."

"Actually, I sleep in – "

"You're completely missing the point! What _I_ was doing was a precaution."

"What you were _attempting_ to do was not a precaution. It was murder!"

When his eyes fluttered open, he noticed that there were three people in his room. It was dark, quite dark, and he thought maybe his eyes were still half closed. With a groan and a mumble of something unintelligible, he stirred. Had that been a dream?

"Look, he's awake."

"Stop caring!"

"I don't care about him, Ron! Stop thinking that I do! I know he wants to kill me, I know he's an evil bastard. But you know what? You were just as bad! You tried to suffocate him! In his sleep, no less! Don't you have any principles?"

"I'm helping you. I don't understand how you can be defending him."

"You just tried to kill another human being!"

"He's barely human."

Harry – and he knew it was Harry because he had the biggest frame – walked towards the bed and gave Draco a glare he was really too disoriented to deserve. "Yes?"

"You owe me. Big time. Ron tried to suffocate you in your sleep with a pillow. I stopped him."

Draco blinked, not feeling any pain at all. Had Harry not said anything, he might have simply assumed it was a continuation to his nightmare. "So?" he managed to say when he realise the other wasn't leaving. Being around Harry was making him uncomfortable.

"So? You _owe _me!" the ravenet said, his voice louder than was necessary, in his opinion. Or maybe it should have been louder. After all, it was the first time they had spoken in days.

"What do you want, then? A trophy of some sort? A kiss, perhaps?"

Now was no time to be sarcastic, but he couldn't help it. He wished he could, but there was so much resentment, so much frustration inside him, that the venom left his lips without hesitation.

"Who the _bloody_ hell do you think you are, saying that kind of shite to me?"

"I have every right to say whatever I want! Your mate over there tried to kill me!"

"_You're_ trying to kill _me!_"

"When have I tried that? When did I ever bloody curse you? When did I put a knife to your throat? When did I _ever_ raise a bleeding hand to you? Tell me!"

"You haven't yet, but – "

"Don't you think that if I wanted you dead that I'd have killed you by now?"

"Not if you were going to do it honourably – "

"When have I ever been honourable? Honestly! I'm a coward, don't you know that? If I was planning to killing you, I would have done it when you were bloody five, not when you were twenty nine! You're bigger than me, probably know more magic, you could get the whole sodding school to bend to your every whim – why would I kill you _now?"_

He felt light-headed, and Draco had to take deep breaths, afraid the black edges around his vision would consume him whole. After effects of suffocation? He wouldn't know. But now was not a good time to pass out. Of course, now was also the time he realised he wasn't feeling too great. Weak and tired, that's what he was, but he refused to pass out. This was his and Harry's first confrontation since he'd cried, since he'd apologized like a blubbering baby to the bloke who hadn't even been physically able to react. Now was the time to get all of the skeletons out of the closet.

Did he really want that, though? His father had offered him his house, his well-being, his life, his _future_ –

"You're trying to confuse me," Harry stated, his voice low and edged with danger and frustration. "I don't trust you. Did you really expect me to?"

"You did in the past."

"Blindly. I trusted you _blindly_. I was stupid, foolish, reckless – "

"You still trust me now, don't you?" And he was smirking. Oh Merlin, no. Of all the times for the Malfoy instincts to kick in, why now, why when he wanted Harry to understand? But he was filled with satisfaction of knowing that fact, the fact that Harry did trust him, that he would believe him. Of course, Draco was telling the truth, and him smirking wasn't really backing up his statements. If anything, it was making him seem less trustworthy. No, scratch that. Smirking _was_ making him look less trustworthy. "You still do."

Harry's look didn't soften. Draco couldn't blame him for the glare. At least it managed to wipe the smirk off the blond's face.

"Harry, have you read the letter?"

"What letter?" both Harry and Draco asked at the same time.

"The letter, Malfoy. Haven't you read it? The one I gave you in Snape's office?"

Draco blinked, a scathing remark poised at the tip of his tongue. On one hand, he could lash out at Weasley for suggesting he'd read anything that poor, twisted redhead had given him. (Which was something he'd been doing a lot of lately: lashing out at people.) On the second hand… he could try to remember what letter he was talking about.

"If Harry read it… he'd see I'm not a monster. I'm not the bad guy here."

"Ron, you tried to kill – "

"I'm not the bad guy here. I'm not evil," he whispered fiercely.

Draco remembered now, Ron's words sparking his memory. He crawled out of bed – feeling a tad woozy when he did so – and opened his nightstand. He rummaged through the drawers contents until his fingers touched what he was looking for. A scroll. He pulled it out and stared at it.

"You haven't read it yet? I can't believe you haven't read it."

Draco didn't direct his piercing gaze at the annoying redhead. Instead, he wondered what good would come of reading this. What could this Malfoy-crested letter tell him? What could he gain by reading it? What could he lose?

In the end, his shaky fingers pried the seal off and he unrolled the sheet. Someone murmured 'Lumos', but the blond hadn't realised that he didn't have to strain his eyes anymore.

_'Dearest Draco,'_

So far so good.

_'Ronald Weasley has told us of your plan. He's one of the few Weasleys who might ever amount to anything in life.'_

Draco would have snickered, had he been his old self. As it was, he just really wanted to read the rest of the letter. He didn't even notice Harry read over his shoulder.

'_Oh, my little dragon, I am very sorry. Both of us are. My brave little boy has risked so much for his future, for his cause. My pride for you has never been so great. I will be coming to meet with you in three days time, to make amends. I wish for us to speak, to clarify everything, though I'm sure I'll just stare at you for a long while; my brave soldier, how I wish I could have gone easier on you.'_

This was a tad repetitive. Was there a point to this letter? Although his mind was reluctant to go on, his eyes devoured the text.

_'I was enraged when Mr Weasley told me of your friendship. Betrayed. I felt like you had abandoned your principles. And, son, he kept sending reports of how close you were getting, about how he always hung around you, about how you never even tried to hurt him in any way. He told me you accepted his flowers. It was not something I enjoyed reading. But, Mr Weasley hadn't told me of your plan until after the holidays. Said you had told him to keep it a secret. I'm so very proud.'_

Draco's brows furrowed together. There was still an internal struggle inside his body, his mind, his heart, his very soul. He could leave this be, accept it, and become a Death Eater. Even if he didn't manage to kill Harry, he'd still be secure. But if Harry read this, if he saw that Weasley played a part, he'd get curious, wouldn't he? He'd ask questions. And if one thing led to another… Wait. There had to be a catch.

Why had Ron wanted Harry to read this? Draco's eyes darted quickly away from the paper and they spotted the dark figure behind him, reading over his shoulder. Worrying his lip, the blond continued reading.

_'Get him close and then kill him. Magnificent. Could have been a tad more elaborate, but the point is that you have the basics. I asked him how you planned to do it. For some strange reason, it really did seem that Mr Weasley enjoyed writing that reply. It was just a feeling I got upon reading it. He told me you were writing it that very first day the little Potter walked into your dorm area. Told me you gave him a copy, and he sent it to me._

_Please reply to my letter soon, little dragon. I await the time where we can speak and you can forgive me for all the terrible things you wanted me to inflict upon you._

_Love,_

_Father'_

Draco blinked. That was it? This… this letter put Weasley in the dog house. Surely it was a bad sign that he had been a spy for his father, no? Surely Harry would take offence. This letter screamed that Ronald Bilius Weasley had been a part all along. If Draco had to go down, Weasley would be brought down with him, which was a slightly comforting thought. A flick of his wrist tossed the letter aside and he sighed tiredly. The room had stopped wobbling though, so he thanked his body for allowing the air back into him. Weasley was in a terrible position now. Oh yes, Harry would never trust him again. And it was exactly what that prick, what that bastard, deserved. The urge to smirk was strong, but he controlled the impulse. Turning to look at Harry to see what he thought of all that, he realised something wasn't quite right. Harry was reading something. A piece of parchment? Merlin, was there another letter? One from his mother, maybe? Harry seemed frozen on his feet, staring blankly (though Draco couldn't tell for sure, what with the darkness and all) at the paper. Draco grabbed it, a bad feeling commencing to brew in his gut, and he read it.

_'How to Kill Harry Potter:_

_Step 1: Befriend the Boy Who Lived._

_Step 2a: Make the aware that I have befriended the Boy Who Lived. _

_Step 2b:Convince parents that we are friends. Allow the punishment to take place._

_Step 3: Everyone finds out it was a lie._

_Step 4: Get him angry. Provoke him. Make sure to prod the wound I caused._

_Step 5: When in an argument, kill him, and make it look like an accident. A Passionate Murder. 'Anger got the best of me'._

_Step 6: Live in a world without the Boy Who Lived.'_

"Explain that, then."

The Slytherin was at a loss for words. "I… I… uh…"

"Explain it!"

"I didn't write it." Finally. His voice.

"What? How can you say that? How _dare_ you insult me that way?"

"I'm not insulting you. I'm the one being insulted! I didn't write it!"

"You think you're so great, don't you? Think that the world will just bow at your feet if you killed me, don't you?"

"They would."

"Shut up! Shut the bloody fuck up!"

"No, I didn't mean – "

"Tell me about this sodding list!"

"I didn't write it."

"It's in your bloody hand writing! I'm sick of your brainless lies, Draco! Sick of them!"

"I didn't write this bleeding letter!"

"It's Malfoy."

Draco's angry breath stuck in his throat. He had forgotten anyone else had been in the room.

All the lanterns became lit, but it didn't matter who had done that. All that mattered was Ron, who looked not furious, not murderous, not angry… but hurt. He stared at Harry.

"His name is Malfoy."

Harry glared at him, probably still riled up, before letting out a long sigh and rubbing his face. "Right, yes, Malfoy. It slipped out. His name slipped – "

"You're not even angry with him, are you?"

"Of course I'm angry with him, Ron! Did you not hear me yelling at him? Did you not see me – "

"No. You're _not_ angry. You're sad and hurt and frustrated that he lied to you, that he betrayed you, but you don't hate him."

Draco fingered the procedure in his hand nervously. Harry stared at the floor for a long while. It was a good minute before he did anything at all. Draco strained his ears, afraid a silent conversation was going on between them that he couldn't hear. The first thing the man in the room did was not speak. He moved, shuffled towards the redhead.

"I can't really hate him."

Draco's eyes were locked on the tall and freckled boy, who looked like he wanted very well to sink to his knees in despair.

"How?" he asked breathlessly. "Harry, how could you possibly like him? _Why_ would you possibly like him? After everything, _everything_ he's done to you."

"He's done some good, Ron. That's why… it's just hard to hate him. I'm angry at him and I want to hit him in the face, but to say that I hated him would be wrong. I spent my entire childhood, practically my whole life, with him."

"He wants to kill you." Just whispers, but they sent shivers down the blond's spine. It was like reading an intense book; he was so drawn into their words that for a moment he forgot that it was really happening, and not being put on display for his entertainment.

"And I won't let him."

"He wrote a list of the steps needed to do it."

"I read."

"You don't think he's innocent, do you?"

"No. Obviously not."

"I didn't write it," Draco murmured, staring at the letter. "I… I didn't do it."

"Fucking liar," Harry replied, turning to glare at him. "I remember. I remember when I was five, the first day I came to the Head's living quarters. You were writing a list. Remember? A list, and you said I couldn't watch."

"You were five bleeding years old – "

"I still remember."

Draco glared back, just as fiercely. "That's not what I was writing."

"Oh no? I'm sure."

The sarcasm was so thick it bit into Draco's pale skin. He stood out of bed, determined, and began sifting his nightstand again. He'd bloody find that bloody list. He didn't want another accusation. To hell with their accusations! Draco was innocent, and he would be _proven_ innocent.

"Here," he thrust the newly found sheet, the one with the many numbers and the scribble in the corner, to Harry. "That's the list I was working on."

"'List of things that make me sick'," Harry read from the paper. He scowled at it. "Is this for real?"

"It's what I was working on that day you came in."

"How the hell am I supposed to know that? You didn't write the date or anything."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, then. Next time I write something, I'll be sure to write the date incase I ever need it as evidence in a bloody trial."

"Fuck you." But Harry read the list, and Draco blushed a tiny bit, feeling embarrassed and childish at having written down such stupid things. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, the thought of Granger-Weasley love children, Harry's cuteness, Harry's laugh…

"Let me."

Draco's head shot up to the voice. Hermione was here? He hadn't registered that, or if he had, he'd forgotten about it. She took the paper and tapped it with her wand, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration as she mumbled something under her breath. The paper glowed.

"Sixty four days ago."

The unfamiliar voice boomed through the room, and Hermione nodded once. The glow subsided, and she handed the sheet back to the Malfoy. Draco shut his eyes and tried to do the calculations.

"But… wasn't he supposed to be thirty three in sixty days?" he asked, his brain scrambled.

"Yes. But sixty days from the day he turned nine. That's when Snape started brewing the potion."

Oh. Right. Made a tad more sense now. He looked at Harry, then at Ron, then back at Harry, to see how they were taking the news. Harry seemed lost. It was Hermione who made the next move. "Give me the list Mr Malfoy sent."

Ron's head turned so suddenly that Draco almost jumped. The panicked look on his face made Draco's chest surge with satisfaction. He knew without a doubt that it had been Ron who had written that stupid step-by-step death. It was a feeling in his entire being; it was the same as knowing that up was up and down was down. You never know _why,_ but you know it still _is_. Ron would get what was due to him, he knew it, he felt it in every cell that was a part of him, and he hoped it was painful.

The spell was repeated, the glow surrounded the sheet that Lucius had sent, and the voice boomed, "Fourteen days ago."

"Well it's not the original," Ron said, rolling his eyes, though he was fiddling with his fingers, his hands trembling slightly. "He still has the original, I'm sure. He just gave me a copy."

"I thought you hated him," Harry said, his voice low and emotionless.

"I do."

"I never saw you guys talking together. I've never even seen you approach him. And yet, his father seems to think you spent a lot of time with him."

"The letter never said – "

"I understand looking out for me. I even understand owling his father. But why, Ron, would Draco give a list to someone he knows hates him? Why would he give a step-by-step description of how to kill me to my best friend?"

"I… I don't know… Ask him."

"I have. He said he didn't do it."

"And you believe him!" Ron cried, pointing his trembling finger at Harry. "Well, fuck you! Fuck you, Harry! I've tried, I've tried so hard to make things like they used to be, to make us friends again – "

"When were we ever _not _friends, Ron?"

"But you always liked him more than me! Always!"

"I've only liked him more for two months! Couldn't you wait? If what you told me was true, once I become sixteen again I won't want to see his face anymore. Couldn't you wait? Couldn't you leave me alone with my best friend for just two months? Didn't you realise that when I was small and unsure and scared that I liked having friends? That I enjoyed being liked?"

"Harry, he yelled at you when you were just a kid! He always told you to scram, he never listened to you when you spoke… Harry, bloody hell, he practically made you wet yourself when the first of his father's letters came to him."

"And I still went back to him! Didn't that tell you, Ron? Didn't that tell you how much he fucking _meant_ to me?"

"I'm not the one trying to kill you, Harry! Stop yelling at me."

And Hermione, sweet Hermione, lovely Hermione, did something that Draco would never forget, and would forever be in debt for.

"Finite Incantatem."

The writing on the list she was holding morphed and swelled, until it had gone from a neat and angular writing to the chicken scratch that could only be Weasley's own writing. The room froze, but it was anything but still. Everything was sparked and charged, and the next move was sure to bring an explosion to the area. Everyone held their breaths, and Draco was sure they knew that anything could set it off. What was 'it', though? Someone's yelling, for sure. Maybe tears. No one had cried yet, Draco realised absently, and they usually did. Everyone always cried nowadays. Maybe that's what the electricity in the room was about. Tears. Or maybe –

"You wrote it? You wrote 'How to Kill Harry Potter'?"

But no answer was given. Ron ran out of the room.


End file.
